Smudged by the smog
The faint lights shimmered
The last passengers in a quick pace
Hurried towards their homes.
The old with the rugs
The little ones in warm hugs
All would circle the bonfires
And exchange warm glances
The little litter-light parleys
Would warm them to a nap
As the the cinder transports the message
To the sky scrapers.
The cinder lingers in the air
Posting it's message at every door
Some are locked up and Some are closed
Some people are dead and Some are non-living.