It was early to start my day
Walking across to the nearby crowd
Smelling the air of fresh early morn
I reached the shop of breakfast and tea.
Owned by Bhaskaran, the villagers man,
Fifteen red tooth smiling to the world.
Plaqued with betel, for over fifty years,
He handled the cash and the hot tea kiln.
Stories had he, of every day fame,
Some were old that history forgets.
Those which explained princess Diana’s death
Of Darwin and Plato, his old school friends.
As bare was his thoughts, actions and speech
So were his torso, body and chest,
A sun dried dhoti covering his tan
He moved on with rhythm filling every bit.
Watching his hands moving with tea
I ordered a glass of milk ‘n water
I sat onto the slim wooddy little bench
Replying the crowd with casual eyes.
The sound of thud as the amber glass did lay
Woke me up from the oily, news-feast
I folded along the relevant page
Feeling the warmth of boiling white.
I enjoyed the sip with oozing sounds
As did many, with newsreels around
Talking about Israel, US and home
They proved their point right to the fore.
Swingers, cobblers, barbers and servants,
Painters, artists, writers and drivers
Fresh and clean with the morning wash
Muddled in lots to Bhaskarans thatch.
His wife was cute, natural and sane
Helping his ways in washing up the mess
Closing her eyes and blowing the ash,
She bends down to pick the firewoods near.
She gives him rest, while he lits up the fire,
Of talks, of stubs and of quarrels light
I sit aside watching the group
United they are to begin their ways.
I pay in coins for the water I had
Coloured in white with a pinch of milk
Sometimes to Ammini, his wife for long
Smiling at me with respect and shine.
Warm and relaxing as I start my day
Leaving Bhaskaran along until for the next,
I wave my heart to the mob I leave
Choking with love and throbbing for more
Kavitha by : Mahesh
Email : firstname.lastname@example.org