The Man who sells tea on the city
footpath once asked me: have you seen
a tea garden ? I weaved a tea garden
in front of him and quickly found green
in one of his eyes and morning mist
(of hills) in the other. I found drops
of rain on his bare skin, beside the
oven, in this tropical summer.
Smoke from a clumsy tea-pan
smiled at us.
He handed over a typical
clay pot of hot tea to me.
And I also found evening
slowly descending
like hilly mist on the
pensive footpath.
***
Madras Courier originally ran as a broadsheet with a poetry section. It was a time when readers felt comfortable sharing glimpses of their lives through verse. If you have a poem you’d like to submit, do email us at editor@madrascourier.com.
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