Sunday, August 12, 2018


Shallow, this dance of breath.
This inhalation. This exhalation.
In. Out. In. Out. Repeat.
Same pattern.
Same rise and fall of diaphragm.
Mostly gentle and soft,
fast and hard occasionally.
And then one fine day,
we stop breathing.
And we are no more.
And it’s all over. All done.
Just like that.
Without any warning.
Without any premonitory.
Tasks incomplete.
Appointments due.
Commitments gathering dust,
just like the picture on wall.
But until then,
you are alive.
And all that you get is this breath.
This inhalation. This exhalation.
Shallow! This dance of breath?
Or does every pulsation breathe life?

Linking with Thin Spiral Notebook : 100 word challenge : Dance

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Since every thought is a seed, I am looking forward to a delicious harvest.