Sceptre

Smoking the cigarette,
Driving in the steep road,
Mountains gazing at him,
The fog faces an identity crisis.

He lights another cigarette,
Adding more power to the smog,
His health and our environment,
Sniff in some good amount of hell.

In the vicinity of his lungs,
His heart then waged a war,
Shackled his wrongdoings,
Dumped packets of pseudo-liberation.

The fog found its identity,
Mountains narrated the history,
Retaining the lost sceptre,
His heart beat for justice and liberty.

©songbriti