At the coffee shop-

I look at every person and wonder
what demons they are hiding,
what secrets they keep buried,
The turmoil they are going through,
the tragedy they’ve experienced.

I wonder,
At the reasons behind
the anger,
the irritation,
The smiles,
the nonchalance.

I wonder,
As I take my spot,
Of whom I’m standing next to;
What made your life the way it is
What fuelled your coffee passion.

I take my cup,
Head out the door,
Knowing no more than my guesses.
I wonder if they wonder
What I wonder when our eyes meet.

Over a cup of coffee-

Ever wondered what it would feel like,
to voice our affect over
A mug of coffee:
You and I and all the others.
To ignore the rule that sadness,
should be dwelt with in silence;
Have a laugh over our pain which
Has a name.

Ever considered the possibility:
That our silence is a fuel which brews
It, and speaking- the water which can
Quell it. If only for a bit:
This pain which has a name.

I don’t know about you, but
My coffee is brewing,
The sun is set to rise,
My mood has no compass yet.
What you say?
Let’s talk about it?
This thing which turns us
Into shadows of our former
Personas…

What love is-

They say,
This- is what love is,
But you wouldn’t know now,
Would you?… referring to me,
A rendition, much like,
The sensational rhymes
Of a love poem,
Pours out of them.

I listen,
I have to-
An emotion which seems to be
An equivalent, to the way
I gaze at a cup of
Steaming black coffee,
Enchanted by the
Swirls of its steam;
Anticipation,
of that first sip.

An emotion which almost,
Feels like the yearning
With which I wrap myself
Around my one gifted duvet,
A visit,
Whose end I dread.

An emotion akin to
The warmth which embraces me
Each moment I happen,
Upon the words of my lord.
Pleasant to the ears,
Soothing to the soul.

An emotion which almost,
Almost feels like the cause,
Of my heart to bit a little faster,
At the sight of my study table;
Always another book to read.
How I hate them.
Oh, how I love them.

But they say-
I do not know what love is.
Maybe, I don’t.

The beautiful picture above Is courtesy of Pinterest.

As close as it gets-

For some,
It takes the form of,
a cup of black coffee,
Drowning in its scintillating,
Effect.
Knowing,
Without a doubt,
Today will be okay.

The act of,
Staring at the face,
Looking back from the glass,
And re-affirming the statement,
Today, I can.

For some,
It takes-
a little more tears,
A lot more prayer,
An occasional day off,
To feel slightly better.

And sometimes,
Putting on a mask,
Which looks like a smiley,
And says the words “I’m fine”,
Is as close as it gets.

Still Here-

There are days when even I can’t grasp the infinite thoughts floating in my head. I reach out for one but it slips, and on it goes… It is a confusing process really. Those are the days when I spend 24 hours in my pajamas, when I turn on all the bulbs in the house, open up the windows, in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, the light seeping in would lend some of its rays to my head because it had to be dark in there- I couldn’t understand a thing, couldn’t process my thoughts.

I go to my trusted friend coffee, because well, you can’t go wrong with caffeine right? Wrong… And that’s when confusion gives birth to irritation. An irritable mood whose two cures fail me miserably- coffee which refuses to stimulate my nerves to release those endorphins and sleep, which is no where to be found.

There are days when I didn’t think I’d make it, there would be days when I will think I won’t make it… But I will. I’m still here aren’t I? 

Goodbyes and Hellos

I left without a goodbye and this is me, back to the blogging world with a hello. I used to wonder how bloggers would leave their blogs all of a sudden, without any notice, they just up and puff… And then I did it, multiple times actually. Coming back for a post and thinking I’m back for good until the next post takes two weeks to make an appearance. I’d love to put the blame on life and being busy but the truth is, it’s been a matter of priority.

As much as I love writing and reading, a few things come before it, like making the most of the little time I get to spend with my family. Yeah I Know, about 2 months is more than a little time, but then again, when you get to see them once a year, two months is basically little time.

So, this is me saying, I have been an irregular and absentee blogger for the past two months but I am hoping it’s all going to be in the past. Thank you to everyone who still checked out my blog, read and commented on my posts and also, to my new followers, welcome, and I can’t wait for us to connect and have much fun.

Here’s to writing poetry, prose, flash fictions and getting my act together in regards to Mental Health Friday. And to the month of June, I say, please please be good to me. 

                                  Cheers with a Cup of coffee  😉😉

Him, her, coffee…

Here we go again;
The girl-
With the notebook;
The boy,
With his hopes up,
Today will be the day,
I can see the eagerness-
In the way,
He twitches his left foot,
Sifts his fingers
Through raven hair;
How doesn’t she notice.
I pass his coffee- the usual
He smiles;
I sigh;

The girl has arrived,
Note in hand, gaze down
I notice, I just notice
The flushed cheeks
Twirling hair-
She was into him, too;
I sigh again
At the hopelessness of lovers.
Do I bring these two
Together;
Tell him to tell her;
But then-
I’m only a waiter
I move on to the next order
Leaving the lovers-
To another day of
I wish I’d said something…

So, I came across this awesome poem by Rupali, “The girl in the bookstore” which inspired me to write this poem. But that’s not all, Rupali’s poem was actually inspired by one written by are Rehman Jafar “The coffee shop“. Thank you guys for inspiring me.

The above image is courtesy of The bw photo