The Coffee Table 4 - Poem by Prathibha Nandakumar
For you who visualises
filled and unfilled closets
with remnants of the lost digits
with worn out emotions
is not easy to handle adulations
coming so easy.
You try to curtail
in curt, crisp commands.
I lift up my burnt hand
Unaware, you bring two cups of scalding
Coffee as if that is all one needs
to survive. The table gets offended
forcing me to respond in monosyllables
Of all the pleasures
most intense is that of wiping away
an unwanted drop
and wondering whether
to kiss or not the trembling lips.
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