Tea in the morning seems like a task
Out of reach.

To be able to be myself,
Even for a moment while I take a sip.

Most mornings it’s just get up and go.
No time for even a little time.

There is no time to steep leaves
When the world begs for attention

That I’d rather give myself.
But the world does not care if I
Crash and burn in the wreckage

That is being alive.
We all pay the toll every day
When we wake and feel the sweat

On our foreheads that house dreams.

Be it tea or any other small joy,
It’s not meant to be an easy reach

Unless you sacrifice a task
In its gratifying favor.