A Smoker's Lament

A dying smoker, abandoned and penniless, reflects on his choices. As his mind debates his fate, he realizes he is not dying from his addiction—but from the wealth he wasted feeding it.

Once there lived a smoker
Who has been abandoned
by family and friends
On his sick bed
He spoke to himself:
"I had lived with misery,
And now wish to leave
the sceneries
I am happy with felonies
People deserve their remedies."
And his mind said to him,
"You do not die here
Of the weed you smoked
For the weeds didn't choke you
while you spoke
You lie here for the things
you loathe
while you were fit and strong."
And he said,
"For I lie on the pit of hell
No money, who gives me a damn?
You're right:
I do not die here
for the weed I smoke
I die here
for the money I lack
And for the treatment
denied."
But his mind said to him,
"It is not right.
You die here
for the money you had
while you were alive
and bought weed
for fun
instead of using them
to treat yourself."

© Godwin Isiwu

Author's Note

The poem suggests that it is dangerous to go too extreme in whatever one does in life. Let whatever risk you take in life equal a corresponding reward. A smoker who smoked recklessly is being depicted as an example and in the poem he is judged by his conscience for not having smoked responsibly. The last lines of the poem summarizes it all: the conscience of the dying man judges him for going extra miles beyond the use of his power while he had them; using them for fun rather than useful things; abusing rather than utilizing them, creating enemies rather than friends, scattering rather than arranging. Partly for this is why he is finally deserted in his sick bed. Frantically, his mind teaches him: Smoke to heal a problem of yours, don't smoke to enjoy yourself; for while smoking kills you, let your death be for the good life you'd lived because of it and not for the enjoyment you had for it. So at least on your sick bed your family and friends do not abandon you for being miserable as they did to the man in the poem, rather that they surround your bed with sympathy and compassion and subtle appreciation of the things you'd accomplished because of the good life the things you smoked had helped you live. If this be the case, family and friends will always find a way to treat you even at the final place.

Note: the smoking here is strictly metaphorical, and could mean any activity at all that you do which is negative or risky to your health but which help you get along with life, and which has or has nothing to do with smoking.

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