A Poem From a Bustling Cafe
Something Old and Forgotten
Inevitably the sky here isn’t mine
beneath its blue canopy’s din
tall glasses glimmer in gold wine
as they clink themselves slim
into a slow sun’s diaphanous iris
I sit alone breathing fireflies
between digits precariously held
angling the mist off muses dire
words — scattered million syllables
lit by lulls obtuse between heavens
A toddler has wandered from his lineage
crawled into my papier-mâché arms
a blind spot to his mum’s buttoned gaze
I fold my smile into an alarm
as he totters beyond her fenced tuile
Serrated sirens of a couple rise
cuts the clatter of spoon cymbals
Neither reaches for the last bite
a promise splayed on Venetian marble
berries oozing beneath a crust of pie
“Un cafe lait, s’il vous plait”
I mouth to the busy waitress
retracing my dwell into this living place
this poem now thronged with an eton mess
a child and a blossoming urge for caffeine.
Author Notes:
I feel like I’m running short of inspiration these days. So I’m down to reviving incomplete poems — this is from 2019 at lunch in one of my favourite cafes in Mumbai. I’m not one who can eat alone or write midst the din of humankind so it was totally unfruitful. But I am feeling a bit nostalgic so I thought of finishing this to commemorate the time we could sit and breathe in the scent of crowds at cafes.
Thank you with all my heart to PS I Love You and its talented editors for being a welcoming house to works from diverse writers from around the world.
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