Breathe . .

Tattered dog bitten clothes,

A distorted tattoo on his arm.

Smoking a low-quality beedi,

and a well-knit quit to keep him warm.

At a pathetic age of forty,

He was nothing but a shrunk nicotine and tobacco poisoned dying man..

..sitting by the tea stall,flanked by two diseased stray dogs.

how everything had changed in this short time span!

Racing back 20 years,the same tea stall,

a hot blooded educated man of twenty,

Smart,athletic,hyper-active and popular.

A graduate certificate in hand,patiently sipping tea.

He smoked occasionally with the excuse of "celebration",

he didn't realize that his celebrations lasted more than a pack.

Life was generous then,a decent job and a hefty bank balance.

With the superfluous money,his tobacco and nicotine addiction was back.

The urge to smoke,the pleasure of floating in nothingness..

..compelled him to resist his sane mind.

He became an independent man ,intransigent to what others said.

In his own egoistic lonely bubble ,he remained confined.

The heaviness of his lungs didn't bother him,

The coughing and blood didn't bother him,

His presumptuous arrogance exacerbated his failing lungs.

Chances of survival was slim.

Knowing well that his death is imminent,

He sits numb with the beedi in his hand.

He chose to spend the last few days with his greatest foe and best friend...

.................the cigarette.