A Float through Night Skies and Other Poems in Youth

Tea

I've come to clench a moment

A moment that burns with me

As I sit at my desk; poorly sorted

And sip on chamomile tea

A dream I had, short and sweet

Of me and the Prophet,

Together meet.

He asked for me to sit:

Two marbled chairs and table between

And I followed him obediently.

A set of china placed

With tea and biscuits traced

He; still human like any man

I; a blunder in boy-skin.

He took the pot

With his palm of right

Poured the tea, cup by cup

Then, handed one to me.

With short sip, and short gulp

The tea went through my cells

And with no issue processed.

The tea, was black like any black tea

And tastes like the ones in store

Catharsis released though not in climax

Of this supposed tea.

A sense of wonder and uncertainty

Came over me with high degree

I turned to him, the Prophet and asked:

"If this be where you live

Of refined goodness round

And this be heavenly plains

Where paradise looms about,

The tea you served – no judgement given

Was of taste so familiar,

Without a doubt, utterly worldly,"

He said to me with beaming face:

"True, to you the tea is worldly

No ethereal form exists.

Paradise shapes through simple content

The happiness in the simple.

Accept the short and simple; receive true content."

And still, with answer given straight

Of lucid heaven and that black tea

I sit, like stupid man

In front of the desk, poorly sorted

And chamomile tea sipped.

What was it that I must know –

To strive for simple content.

To strive to love the menial tea –

To reach some heaven above.

With that, I lay and ponder

With such, I lay and wonder

Pontificating dogma, God, and such

Paracetamol pills, overdose much

To reach finality in life.