A Decade Later

The Morning Has Changed

White sea,
frivolous foam,
over a
dirty brown
syrup.
Coffee
with a sprinkle
of cinnamon
was never
my preference.
I always liked
my cup of tea,
the way
it was,
strong,
clear, strained,
golden glow,
with a slice
of pungent ginger
to get my kicks.

Coffee
is beautiful, sensual
like a fairy world,
but the
awakening
is disappointing,
leaving behind
the smell
of lost dreams.

My tea,
is reality,
grounded,
yet deep
and sublime
only for those
who prefer to
leave the frills
aside
and look
for substance.

You are confusion,
swirling waves,
looking to
churn and churn
for time immemorial,
Leaving it all aside,
hurling in hedonism,
people, noise, excitement.

I'm steady,
century old pebble
at the bottom
of a passionate river,
tempestous above,
quiet below.

Don't offer me
waves anymore,
I've lived
inside that life once.
Can you give
me a promise
of refreshing
water,
depth,
crystal clear ideas
of brilliance?

I don't like coffee,
I never will.
There's a reason
why there are cafes
galore,
young unknown voices
in coffee bars,
sitting over cups
of froth,
talking fast,
then when done,
walking away,
towards home.

Did you ever wait,
to watch an old man
sipping his cup of tea
patiently for hours?
Have you seen
the accepting look
on his face
as he reminisces
over his life?

I don't like coffee,
I never will.
I don't like confusion
either.
But the morning
has changed.
And coffee
has found a place
in my kitchen,
and slyly
towards my heart,
without my prude
approval.