The Tea Cup
“She awaits the rain like a writer embraces metaphors,
A drizzle isn't for the child who dances in the storm.
Of rain that washes away the petrichor it brings,
A downpour of a hail of bullets, and she calls it spring.”
― Sanhita Baruah, The Farewell and other poems
The Tea Cup
You walked down the stairs
Flowers in hand and dressed to your best
You look inspired with those dazzling eyes
I was your maid
Serving your guest
She sits in the lawn
Waiting for you
As I came near
The tea was spilled
Broken pieces lay on the floor
I was deeply cut
By the view I saw
You held her hand
And slipped the band
I picked the pieces so mindlessly
Drops of blood paints the floor
You saw and asked,
"Are you alright?"
I smiled and nod
But as I turned back
Drops of tears fell down my eyes
© 2017 Himeko Sanbika
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