lofafa 20لفافه عشرون
تسير المراكب من حولى و البحر شاسع
و القلب منتفض بحب و القلب شارد
وقفت سفينتى بالقرب من ميناء صغير
و تتطل رائحه القهوه من دكان حقير
حقارته جعلته ممتلئ بزمره من ا
They ask me why do I smoke that filth, I nod my head and say "no reason" because I know that no one will understand the "why" behind this fellowship. The cigarette is a reasonable friend. It's there for about 10 minutes of one's life, explore one from inside, and get out, might hurt like everything and everyone else, but certainly heals something in one.
It's a visitor, easy one, doesn't come to stay for long, and when it comes, it comforts one. It draws the most amazing art, delicate that can be manipulated by tongue, lips and finger tips. Amusement it gives, the little white or brown cigg.
It comes in flavors if one wish, and suits every drink and every dish. It lies there peaceful, no noise, no demands, no desires but one's lips wrapped around its fragile paper.
It's not filth, it's a friend, like a book, like a cup of coffee, like a cupcake, or ice cream on a break-up night. It helps some lose weight, others lose stress, or lose lifeit fastens death.