The End of Stories

Smoking Kills , the devil drinks ,
With every breath  my life shrinks,
Still the belief within gets stronger ,
As it gets colder outside, the inner gets warmer ..
I look around and I see , and what I see are stories ,
The stories filled with joy , some with sorrows,
Characters flying high in the sky , other stuck in their own burrows …

I see a kid with all the beliefs knit close to its heart,
The pictures clear , the sketches neat and trying hard to pull its cart .
And he knows what he wants from life ,
And yet he believes his story has a different end.

Then there I see again, is this guy standing tall,
The man who thinks , he knows it all…
He doesn’t try it too hard , but still is clear in thoughts so far,
The world is beautiful and amazing is its hold ,
But somewhere he fears the god, who is fat, ugly and bald
He sure knows what he wants of life and what would be its end..

Then I see the birds , their eyes twinkling and wings flapping
I cannot see them separate as they wave in their collective halos ..
They figure out in every step , the moment is reaching when they would fly
Their folks beseech ,thinking of door which could be a gallows ..
They amuse me as I see the belief there is no end ..

Some tend their souls ,
others have their goal
They so believe in the means deciding the conclusion,
What else would it be if not hypnotism.
But then I sit back and see so many tales ,
they had the same start, and as I view them , they have the same ends,
It’s funny how we gather and the life bends,
How , then does it matter ,
If the smoking kills and the devils drink,
After all, with every breath our all lives have to shrink.