Even if all the contents

Confined within

The cage of one's soul

Were to spill 

Could we understand them?

Such a question

In such a queer situation

Was presented to me 

When the sky had 

Gifted the sun it's 

Long awaited adieu

Leaving bitter shades of grey

To take it's place 

Before the crescent moon

As a girl 

Immobile from the waist up

Mobilized her only 

Mobile half

To puff the silver clouds

Of suffocating ash 

Tipping off the illuminated 

Stench of a cigarette

Entrapping them both as

Her father laboring away

Preparing the car 

For her leisure 

Now I do not claim 

To know the reasons one 

Wish to die

Nor do I know the reasons

One would cling to life

Some people 

Would rather burn 

At their own hand

Than the Hand of God

Gifting them 

Slow and painful 

Decrepitation

And as a simple bystander

I will never know 

The reasons one 

Would enjoy to do

Any of that either