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.