Sunday, July 29, 2012
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Thursday, July 26, 2012
The silent echo of COFFEE!
The silent echo of coffee….
This is a context of how a coffee bean feels when it has been abandoned in a perforated can by his master and not being used in coffee making. The thrills it did not witness when it was in use, it has been now witnessing the daily petty events through the perforations in that can when it was in prisoned like a criminal in dungeon.
My aroma frothed with milk,
My aroma sweetened with sugar, senses taste buds of thine Sire in poise for the day.
Thyself in brown pellets form mingling with milk and sugar in joy.
Thyself in brown pellets form jingling with silk and messenger in convoy relaxed at the bay.
I hear the tapping notes of rain water,
I hear the rustling notes of leaf litter,
I hear the bustling notes of bee twitter in spite of being locked in a rusted perforated can!
I hear the flying notes of vibrant kite,
I hear the soothing notes of nonchalant flute,
I hear the rhyming notes of infant cute in spite of being blocked in a crusted humiliated can!
Fumbling in the can of death since eons,
Trembling with the man of wreath since eons,
I heaved a sigh of relief when a kid unlocked the lid of dungeon.
This is a context of how a coffee bean feels when it has been abandoned in a perforated can by his master and not being used in coffee making. The thrills it did not witness when it was in use, it has been now witnessing the daily petty events through the perforations in that can when it was in prisoned like a criminal in dungeon.
My aroma frothed with milk,
My aroma sweetened with sugar, senses taste buds of thine Sire in poise for the day.
Thyself in brown pellets form mingling with milk and sugar in joy.
Thyself in brown pellets form jingling with silk and messenger in convoy relaxed at the bay.
I hear the tapping notes of rain water,
I hear the rustling notes of leaf litter,
I hear the bustling notes of bee twitter in spite of being locked in a rusted perforated can!
I hear the flying notes of vibrant kite,
I hear the soothing notes of nonchalant flute,
I hear the rhyming notes of infant cute in spite of being blocked in a crusted humiliated can!
Fumbling in the can of death since eons,
Trembling with the man of wreath since eons,
I heaved a sigh of relief when a kid unlocked the lid of dungeon.
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