A Cup of Warmth

Last night, on a bus, city bound…
traveling light with a usual backpack;
feeling nauseous as anxiety creeps,
that fear of the uncharted
as I drifted past towns.

One hundred and twenty minutes after,
seven thousand two hundred in seconds,
I stepped out of the bus (a yellow bus)
while the driver grumbles in his seat
for my short-notice stop.
I was barely even there yet,
but it’s getting cold…

Light-headed, I wandered;
Aching for a cup of warm drink.

I found myself in a bakeshop,
asked the lady there if they have coffee;
need to ask twice, or was it three times?
before she finally moved, poured, stirred,
Handed the coffee, in a paper cup.

Everything seemed not right that night.
Was it the city or just me? I reflected
as I sipped, caffeine opening my senses
–bland.
The cold started to slip away, while
my mind was still grasping
where I’m headed.

The cup half empty, I started to walk.

On the street, a stranger caught my eye,
a man in deep slumber;
the asphalt for bed.
I thought ~
Why can’t I be grateful
for even the worst cup of warmth?

That night, coffee never tasted that bad.

* * *

For a Country Lass

The city howls a sad song
for a weary soul longing for home
One silent heart that stills
In the dark of night that chills

A country lass in a crowded place
Against the tide and battling waves
Of people whose surface eyes can’t see
Life is deeper than what’s defined in society

She gets her flute and tries to play
As she sits waiting for the light of day
Where dreams shine, and hopes are brighter
And her burdens and troubles lighter

Her restless heart is a reminder
There’s more to now, there’s something better
That will unfold if she believes
With faith unwavering, even while she grieves.

*for Somah GGY

Mountain View

DSC_0421The city is vibrant with dancing lights
but there’s only one light I’d like to see;
I’m patiently waiting for the sunrise–
dawn of another chapter of my life.

I traveled far, confused and frightened
as page after page of my book unfolds,
a country lass trying to be strong;
the road was long all way up here.

Dark, cold, cloudy midnight sky,
greets me with a disapproving eye;
still, I look beyond that portrait hung
to reach the Painter’s loving hand.

I’m here waiting for the sunrise,
ready to kiss that first light.

* January 15, 2015 *