Wisps of an unfulfilled dream
Floated around in the air
Pale, gossamer, fading, formless
Like a word in its womb.

He drew a laboured breath in
But his heaving chest
Couldn't expel enough
To move the wisps away.

Tired eyes closed their lids,
Fast wearying of it all
And opened once again
Checking if they'd gone.

No, they hadn't ;indeed no
For they were playing it too,
The waiting game
To see who'd go first.

One more rasping breath
Drawn in long and laboured.
Then a grunting wheeze
And still the wisps lingered.

And so the game went on
Long into the cold night 'ntil
there was left no more,
Not a wisp, not a breath.


Anilkumar Parat