Brewing tea
The finest blend
From the green hills
Of Darjeeling
The day lit with a lustrous light
Glowing sky
An unseasonal squall
Fermenting
Curtains billowing
The fan fomenting
In a mad spin
Lightning hidden in the folds of clouds
Thunder buried in the deep sky
Raindrops beginning to fall
Drop by drop
The wet fragrance of the earth
Mingling with the gentle aroma
Of my brewing tea
The blue teapot waiting expectantly
On the kitchen counter
A face, unknown, yet known
A half smile like the lustrous
Light in the sky
The sky darkening like moist eyes
Poetry sobbing with a silk soft voice
All this I pour
into my fragile cup
Made of delicate bone china
My silver spoon stirring
My amber tea steaming
The finest blend
From the green hills
Of Darjeeling
Raindrops now falling heavy and fast
Drinking my tea sip by sip
-by Rita Putatunda
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