From the other side of the glass window
The city looked at her with indifference
Her hands had carried the cold from outside
numb to the welcoming warmth
Gloves were meant to be forgotten
Her solitude was quickly forgiven
By the generous occupants of the room
As they returned to their cups and conversations
The walls were sketched by a wondering hand
Little slips in the lines, his only signatures
In a corner, Ghalib confessed his love for Dilli
Beside his musings, she took her seat
The calligraphy, done a little over enthusiastically
Made the words difficult to read
Ornamentation beneath its tedious cloaks
Buried the simplicity of things
“Have a look at our menu ma’am,
We have the best coffee from around
the World.”
So for her simple cup of brew
She flew over Jamaica, Brazil, Austria,
Norway, Cuba and Canada
Before coming back and resting on her own shores
“Malabar Monsoon!”
“Our very own.. excellent coastal flavours ”
The world was constantly escaping
Into another
Snatching away little moments
To spend with themselves
Tasting a different life
She was waiting for monsoons
In the midst of a haughty winter
Reading a novel set in Tehran
While breathing the fogs of Delhi
A polite interruption of the French pot
Dived headlong into her pensive state
She poured in her cup
The blissful refuge
In its bitterness, she dissolved her scars
Poisoned all her lies
But some truth died as well
Because she couldn't always tell
One from another.
After the warmth returned to her palms
And the cup returned to the kitchen
After the smile returned to her lips
And she returned home to herself
Her soul’s bare feet still wet
Kissed by Malabar monsoons
While she has walked on its rainbow shores
Leaving no footprints behind.