Sunset hour
A cigarette’s smoke around,
Watching the red sky.
Birds flying freely,
Singing in harmony,
Moving in every direction—
No attachment,
No destination.
The sounds are enchanting.
Are they talking? Are they singing?
In this summer evening,
Watching the sunset sky,
A breeze moves softly through my hair,
As if the sky is breathing.
I sit—haunted by red light
And the birds that never stay.
About the Creator
Zarkoshi
I laugh loudly and write quietly — both keep me alive.
Every poem is a moment I’ve lived and never quite escaped. Laughter heals me, writing remembers me — a small attempt to leave a mark in this chaotic life.
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