Skip to main content

One black coffee



One black coffee
and I made love to her.
Wasn't it the most obvious thing?

Leave apart the morbid thoughts,
Those unscrupulous questions.
She was married
and more importantly to someone else.
So how could I?

That was a rainy dark night.
Chatting over a cup of coffee
Didnt know when the sugar cubes melted.
As it was fuming
we waited for it to calm down
It didn't.
Should we have waited?
Perhaps yes..may be.
but it was strong enough.
Caffeine took us over
As we indulged into the sip
then one more
and then till the end.

Must i ask you Mr.
Can you control your emotion
err passion at that time?
Or is it unruly of me
to ask about the naked truth
In the so called DIGNIFIED poets' world?

So
Why am I being accused?
DO i have to cope up
to the hipocricy of the society
and bury my feelings !

I WILL NOT.

Accuse me if you want
Loathe me if you wish.
But i ask you now
Hadn't you offered the lady
one black coffee
if you were me..??!!

[P.S.-Characters,Ideas and Events purely fictitious ]

SoUmY@



Comments

Rukhiya said…
There are these times, when emotions (shrouded in a word 'passions' or vice versa) overtake everything else, that we attribute to other things (evasive)-to caffeine or other stimulants and sedatives. Blatant but the oh so subtle hand thats yours puts the nail in the head! Powerful and 'truth'ful. Thankfully so. :)
p.s.: Rofl for the p.s. :D However did you think of that disclaimer..gosh! Rofl :D ;)

Popular posts from this blog

Untitled

You travel - Through unknown stations, passing empty paddy fields. over quiet rivers that rest beneath you. You bring a lot of earth along, And smell of mud, fish scales and trains.  You whisper and scream, Put your nails in me, occasionally call it love. Other nights, we make peace. Strangely at dawn, When the Sun rises and you see me sleeping,  I hear your whisper,  you travel ...   ... Deep inside me.

Together

I sit here to write An epic of love But words don't pay heed To my flowing senses. But what I write is about you. Who held the rain at her footsteps, Who could love the way Gothics shy And who can heal my scars Like I never had. And what I write is about me. Who drenched in the rain Like the raindrops, Who was loved the way He dreamt never. And who cried in the happiness beyond. So if ever the rain stops I would stand near you. If ever the scars anew I would feel your healing touch. If ever I don't sleep I would breathe you to sanity. On that rain soaked sands of Seashore And above the presence of lonesome moon, You would murmur the gentle song That I would echo in silence. And would pray, Somewhere,tiptoeing my wishes Dreams will rush up To another moment of blissful song offerings... SoUmY@

Untitled

Wish I could be a cloud one day I will love to be grey if its you To whom, through whom I traverse. Transparency is optimum; For I know you are unattainable like the sand escaping from the fist like the meaning assumed from the gist. look, oh yes, I can rhyme too. If you wish I can artify our world. Inspiration never needs a permit. You had asked, Why do I vomit blood. Interruptions in dreamy un-realism doesn't suit me. I know. So I write. So that I can breathe you in and breathe dreams out. Live long, you had wished. (Wished), did you? honestly? I will let it pass like just another Failed attempt to face reality Finds itself en-route to contamination. Oh! then what is pure? you may ask. Purity is not you, not me, but us. Purity is the way verses traverse. I will vomit to death one day. Do not pray for me. Pray for my poems who are quiet. Let them borrow my breaths. Let the poetry for us live. (And the footnotes conclude:) You - a miser in love Me - a happy lender. SoUmy@