Tea and poetry
A girl Who makes tea for me, And throws a smile that melts my worries. No sugar— Yet sweet, With her passion she stirs the soul. She lights the stove, Boils the water, Adds two spoons of chiyapatti, Stretches a packet of cow’s milk, And pours it like poetry. She waits, patiently— And I, I fall in love with her patience. She brews the tea light and white, Like an artist brushing paint on canvas— Isn’t that art? I take a sip, slow, deliberate, She waits— For a compliment. I drink it like a child licks ice cream, Afraid it might finish too fast. My love, how do I say— You make a man alive. In one cup of tea, You serve confidence, You pour life. I'm waiting for that girl, A woman— Wife material.