Cup of Tea
I wasn’t sipping from my own cup of tea,
An expected knock had startled me,
It was never a time for me to be free.
The line that chose me didn’t want me to be.
Stuck in this continuum, I created myself,
A couple of numbers I forgot in the shelf,
It was way better had they been dead in a memory bygone.
But they had to resurface, and stand tall.
I went back to the party, I celebrated a couple of years ago,
They ordered a coffee, not tea like before.
Things were changed at my end, how could I misjudge theirs,
But the ego had traveled a long distance, to which I then adhered.
Documents were brought up along with several topics,
I instantly wanted out, wanted to be back in my old rotting office.
But I was being faced by the questions, which I myself sought,
Can’t retract, long ago I dismantled my own time machine clock.
The cup of tea said looking at me,
“I was made with half a cup of water, some milk, some leaves and a lot of heat,
Here in front of you I stand waiting getting cold,
Either you drink me, or you let me flow off the sink hole.”
I looked at the speaking tea, hearing the police knocking go louder from the wrong side of the door,
In a single sip I burnt my glottis, sailed the whole cup of tea to the shore.
The cops cracked open the door and entered with a sudden outburst,
And I had a gag reflex,
The tea never reached the bottom of a sink,
It now rests as stains on my plain white shirt.
9 7 2017 nipundart