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Monisha Sep 18
मुझे तंहाई अच्छी लगती है,
ख़ुद से बातें, सची लगतीं हैं,
बस हाथ में चाय या काैफी की प्याली हो,
और पुराने से कैफे  में,काैफी ब्रू की महक हो
और ऐसे में  कुछ यादें बस यूँही याद आ जाती  है।

टेबल अगर थोड़ा  गहरा हो,
थोड़ा घिसा, थोड़ा मैला हो,
कुर्सी थोड़ी कड़ कड़ करती हुई
अपना अस्तित्व जताती हुई।

कॉफ़ी का मग या चाई की प्याली,
चीनी मीटि की बनी हो,
गाड़े नीले या हरे रंग की,
लकीरें समय की समेटे हुए,
समुद्र की तरह  सब जानने वाली, समाने वाली।

दिन हो तो, भीनी भीनी सी,
इठलाती, बल खाती किरणें,
श्याम हो तो, पुराने लैम्प की,
हल्की, मघम रोशनी,
ऐक अरसे की याद दिलाते हुऐ।

सोच कर थोड़ी मुस्कराहटें आती हैं,
और आँखें नम सी भी हो जाती हैं,
जब कुछ लम्हे परचाईयों की तरह
एक जुट हो जाते हैं।

कितनी बाज़ुऐं इस टेबल पर टिकी होंगी,
सामनेवाले की कही सुनने के लिए आँखे झुखी होंगी,
कितने अरमानो की कश्ती,
समुद्री गहराइयों में निडर गोते खा रही होंगी।

वो कश्मकश से दूर,
पर, किन्तु, परन्तु से परे,
मीठी, मासूम और कुछ करने की चाहत लिए,
वोह पल याद आतें हैं।

और फिर सोचतीं हूँ,
वो यादें रंगीन थी,
ज़िंदगी की तरह, बेहतरीन  थी,
और आज का क्या विचार है,
चलिए आज कुछ और यादें बनाते हैं
कल कॉफ़ी पर उनको याद कर जाते हैं।
A poem depicting the passage of time, celebrating the past but also mindful of the magic of the present.
seraph Aug 24
The tremble of your lips grasping at the idea of sound, of sentences.
What is there to share, what to make of secrets?

The soft, swift, brief touch of our knees,
The recoil that follows immediately.

The pattering of your voice over the chatter of the shop
making the mundane a private, intimate affair.

The way you shifted in your seat next to me,
Concerned with the space you and I and we were occupying.

The tentative nature of your suggestions,
How you watched and waited for me to lead.
Je me regarde
Dans les reflets
Du café corsé
Du petit matin brûlant
J'y vois
Mon visage qui se dissout
En vesou
Et ton sourire-poème qui apparaît
Dans les remous de la tasse
Et qui murmure du fond de sa mer noire:
"Dor, Dor, Dor !"

C'est un dor sonore
Doux et amer
Un dor comme un pélican
Qui plonge au ralenti
De son mancenillier en fleurs
Pour y gober une lame de mer mordorée.

"Dor Dor Dor !"

C'est une mitraillette de sept plumes de coqs de chine
Qui transperce ma dérive de ses plombs et hameçons
Veux-tu donc que je morde,
Scombridé anthropophage,
A l 'appât de houle
De tes vingt brasses de tresse verte ?
Veux-tu que j'amarre
Mes paupières lourdes
Aux crève-coeur de ton misainier
et que j 'ancre mes rêves
Dans les cales d'un port sans relâche ?

"Dor dor dor ! "

Et voilà le marc de café qui tangue
Embarde, cavale
Dans le roulis d'or de ta voile aurique
Dorlote mon gouvernail et me lit
Au fil de mes haut-le-coeur dans la caféière
Qui jouxte le cimetière joyeux
Où flânent les ombres des petites morts
Près du pont au-dessus de la rivière Saison.

"Dor dor dor ! "


Faut-il que j 'ouvre dans ton miroir la porte à la douleur ?
Faut-il que je chante joie, plaisir, contentement,
Jouissance et nostalgie, manque et absence ?
Faut-il que je mette dehors la petite cuillère
Et que je me rendorme en buvant comme du petit lait
Cette dor qui perle en riant de tes lèvres-nasses
Assoiffées de café anthracite de soleil noir,
D'ombre de soleil, de souvenir de soleil,
D'espoir de soleil d'or ?
Monisha Jul 25
I seek coffee shops,
Quiet, hidden,
Tucked away,
Dark wood, mugs with fat lips,
Unobtrusive, corner seat,
Nothing forbidden.

Ah! The smell of the brew,
Nose tingles, Eyes closed,
Sublime fascination,
Moments to settle in and roots I grew.

A book opens or my laptop does,
Ambient sound soothes as a caressing touch.
My coffee arrives in its carriage comfortably so,
I reach out and pick it up,
All mine, nowhere to go.

Look around my wandering gaze,
Lost souls, finding their way,
With their thoughts through the haze.
What do I do,
I watch them wafting and waning with their thoughts,
Some with others yet alone,
Some alone, yet not lone.

Coffee companion, friend,love,
Subliminal cold or hot,
And without a word exchanged,
A clan, a tribe,
Community found.

What’s your brew,
Dark and strong
Or golden hued
Or perhaps pure white,
A dash of brown to bring to light,
Night or day,
Coffee in the shop,
Is my magic hop.
m h John Jun 26
hearing your voice
and hearing your name
brings back the pain
of what was yesterday

i found your coffee stained shirt
hidden deep in my drawers
and it brought back all those memories
of us at the corner cafe

and days where we’d sit along the bay
and count the stars
as we’d name them after our dreams

these days i find myself
trying to let the time heal eventually
all our memories
all our history
and all you meant to me
Risa Njoroge Jun 12
She wore a long black dress,
That showed off some of her dark skin,
And a little bit of her *******,
Her hair was pulled up the top of her head,
And she had on thick reading glasses
You would think she was about to take a test,

He wore a light blue shirt and dress pants,
And wore a golden watch with thick leather  straps,
He asked her to sit by the big wide window,
So he could look at her under the golden sun,
When his hand touched her skin,
"Cafe' con leche" she whispered to him,

Before today they only existed in each others dreams,
Exchanged many letters,
Where they talked about many things,
Fears, hopes and secret needs,
They spoke about Wishes,
About lack of kisses they both now seek,

She shivered as he touched her lips,
His cold white hand lit fire to her dark skin,
They wanted more than the wishes and horses,  
They wanted hugs and kisses,
A fine romance
Where they could both feel safe,

Wishes and kisses,
Dreams and Desires,
Beggars wishing to riding horses,
Me and him hoping to stop time,
Cafe' con leche their fingers marry,
Tonight they will live out their dreams!
Prescribed drugs
Sipped with liquor

A lethal cocktail
Genre: Clinical
Theme: A taste of life
Jaxey May 13
You tasted bitter
With a pinch of honey
And I wondered
If they had forgotten
The cream
Simplicity is nice
things are changing so

life is happening so

from one thing to the next,
supporting friends, working
at the cafe and hospital...

and things will continue to
change. as long as we are alive
nothing will ever stay the same
Poetress2 Mar 28
I stopped at a run down Diner one day,
on the menu were dishes I couldn't even say;
I asked the Waitress, "What do you suggest,"
"Poodles and Noodles, it one of our best."
"I need a minute, could you give me a few,
I can't decide on what I will choose;"
"That's fine sir, but the soup of the day,
is pickled Grasshoppers, on a bed of hay."
My stomach did flip-flops, as she walked away,
but I decided I'd try something new, anyway;
She returned shortly after, with a large Menu,
"I'll try number 4, the Baked Possum Stew.
How fresh is this dish, did you catch it today,"
"This morning our cooks scraped it off the Highway;"
I waited patiently for my meal to arrive,
hoping that after this, I would survive.
It wasn't half bad, if I say so myself,
     so I paid the bill, left the tip on the shelf;
I decided that if I ate there again,
I'd bring one of my very best friends.
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