The Coffee

Posted by Nehul Akash Sahu on 27 Jun 2016

The Coffee

The very first marchers of light,
Split opened the mist, so tight,
Landed on our first step,
Climbed slowly to our doorstep.

Slowly they trekked,
Up through the doorpost cracks,
To the bronze cut nameplate,
A fine piece, from a blade.

The light fills the gaps,
Names, shine golden, though brass,
Your name atop mine,
So it could enjoy better the view of pine.

Another contingent gets through the window,
Falls on my eyes, warms the pillow,
I feel the change around my neck,
Rub my eyes, lift my back.

On my way out, I grab a shawl,
To beat the cold out on prowl,
Across the garden, on the wooden deck,
I stand, observing the meandering beck.

Tousled haired and sleepy face,
You emerge, hands wrapped around, to brace,
The morning chill and the icy wind,
Hovering near on fast wings.

On the very edge I sit,
Feet dangling freely off the cliff,
You sit beside, stifling a yawn,
While I drape around you the shawl.

Thus, as dark against light shivers,
Each morning my hopes shimmer,
For that I ain’t no quitter,
Cuz, My life force with you simmers.

Inside the drape, its my life,
It’s you, the girl, I seek her.

Abruptly you get up,
Snatching the shawl on your way up,
My complaints couldn’t cover the half,
Back handed smoothly by your ringing laughs.

Shivering and swaying I squat,
Not For once, I get unaware caught,
Smiling and shaking head in disbelief,
Every day I fall for your mischief.

Accustomed to your soft foot tread,
Like words whispering from the last read,
I can read them and know their say,
It’s you, returning with a tray.

Two steaming cups of coffee,
Creamy smiles on them, one genuine, one naughty,
First I hold your ear for the mischief,
And in the moment snatch away the morning kiss.

Playfully, you punch me for that,
I accept the compliment, taking off the hat,(gesturing)
Flamed, you try to work the push,
Laughing, I stall this by bear hug and shush.

Eventually you concede, prolonging the hold,
And I remind about the coffee getting cold,
‘Spoiler ‘you had me label with another punch,
I love receiving this, even after the hunch.

The mist is on rise,
Having left the beck,
Diffusing in the sky,
For some reason clouds seem paranoid,
Running so low, dangerous if to collide,
Washing our feet on every stride.

Occasionally between the sips,
You adjust behind ear, hair wisps,
Looking at it, my eyes all lost,
What’s it love? You sought,
Nah nothing, you know, just lost,
My mind though plays other thoughts,
I just got glimpses, very fast,
For my window you are,
To the present, future and past.