Poem: Hope, Breathe, Hope.

The greatest hope that we keep is the interval between two breaths. We always hope we can inhale next and that is what life is all about.

Some of you might have missed the first poem. I have allergic bronchi, and when it shows up, I feel, life is more than precious. I want to live. Write. Read. Savor art. A little bit of exchange with Priya Patel is also part of this tough week.

Poem: HOPE BETWEEN BREATHS

Nobody read this poem. Probably the verse does not convey much. I wrote this with a lot of craft but was disappointed.

Image by Engin Akyurt from Pixabay

Hope is my life’s companion
That lingers between each breath’s space
Unseen, taken for granted, resilient
A silent faith that graces our lives.

In the rhythm of inhales and exhales,
Hope weaves its delicate strings
An unseen bridge to an uncertain future,
A testimony to the resilience that life springs from.

In the dance of breaths, a mystery unfolds,
For in the space between, hope takes hold.
Unaware of the final exhale’s quiet decree,
It’s with this that our spirits wander free.

We shall never discern our last breath,
As it quietly surrenders to the eternity of death.
With silent hope, we find solace in this earth
A timeless companion from the moment of birth.
~Ashok Subramanian © 2024

Since I did not get any response on LinkedIn, I wrote to Priya. She gave me a few hugs on WhatsApp.

Sometimes the simple things are the dearest
A gulp of air
A simple hug
A glass of hot water
A bit of Vicks
And…
Just some shut-eye.

~Ashok Subramanian © 2024

Then I wrote something more. It was 313 am.

How I wish
To see your face
Just clinging to life
Hoping I will breath
Just once more
Just to see your smile

~Ashok Subramanian © 2024

Finally, she responded with the vitamin that I needed.

We take for granted
this everyday act
Breath in, breath out
this simple impact
on our everyday life
until we cannot breath
until each breath is a fight
until you suddenly lose sight
and the only solace you seek
is to breathe in, breathe out

~Priya Patel © 2024

Then, I write to her in desperation. The suffering, my friends, is immense.

I stare at the air
Can’t see my little killer
So I breathe through a filter
Even air ain’t pure
Karma catching up

~Ashok Subramanian © 2024

Finally, I can write a longer one.

Poem: BREATHE, HOPE, BREATHE.

The back muscles scream
Exerting like mules
Little bags in my chest
confused about going on
There is no more air
that comes into my throat
An itchy, scratchy feeling
An intruding allergen apparently
Cough, cough, cough
the body protests
the lung pumps and aches
the back muscles strain in spasms
tears flow like torrents

the antibiotic and the nebulizer
the gargling and the steam
still that little allergen tickles
and another bout starts
On the fourth night sitting
Struggling to sleep
Insomnia, my friend, is my friend
I am awake in hope
that hope that I will breathe
and not that little allergen tickle
my body is beyond numb
Breathing is now aching
and I am getting used to

and the fifth day arrives
I let the sunshine in
A bit of a walk around
I seem to be winning
People want me on video
I smile and my mute button is on
Lest they catch me fighting
my little tickling allergen
who seems to have gone quieter

I am winning this battle
Still sitting through the night
Watching against the mischief
of the persistent urchin in my throat
I breathe and I hope that
I breathe, again and again.

~Ashok Subramanian © 2024

I am better, but still recovering. Hope to get back to full-time writing.

~Ashok Subramanian © 2024