Her Breath


once upon a time

in her usual mime

When she craved no one’s indulgence,

her steps, so loud

though so proud

She heckles on & in

with constraints amid periodic breakthroughs 





Fragile as the wisp of a curl

Flamboyant as the bliss of a pearl

She sat inches away

with her purported gazes

Venting between yesteryears

and plaques of old age

As I then bemused to guess,

she was just margins above

her eighth decade,

with her equivocal pants

climbing on & in

as & when necessary 





A sleight of emptiness ?

profound adulation of memories

I peeped to see her curls,

now turned wrinkles

her (pearly) resume of a figure,

an adage 





Her silent pants

her breath

As gentle as the cuddle

from a-day-old mom 





Before I erupted to critique

the spurts within her eyes,

she had been ushered

into the next but adjacent room

on my immediate left hall-way,

for her monthly vis-a-vis







All that I could recall & ponder

about is her breath


Her breath

So delicate

So intriguing

yet very pure !




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