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The holy smoke rises
high up in the air,
for it seeks to convey something to
the Invisible power above.

My eyes start burning
with the fumes of all that is
thrown in the ornate hearth.
The fire turns furiously red

as if the spirit in it seeks

to transcend to the other side.

I follow the smoke

that is now coming out of my mouth,

with the similar aim of communion

of the self and the sacred.

The sky turns dark

as more smoke seeps into my lungs;

the fire slowly turning dead.

And the barren earth cries

with all its grass dry,

from heat and smoke,

and all the uprooting,

that supplement the business

of Faith and transcendence

for the holy power, 
deceiving.