Drowned in brown
I am wading through
Frothy waves,
It’s a bit much
This aroma of coffee
At the corner cafe;
Faint guitar strings
Click of Scrabble tiles
Or keys on a laptop
Clatter, chatter
A little laughter
Just another evening
As the sun dissolves
Into another cup
Staining the bottom
With a rust orb –
The circle of life!
Two decades back when coffee cafes started blooming in Indian cities, this was a common sight in the evenings with young people, mostly IT employees, converging at the cafes. It was part of being hep. It could be overwhelming for the loners, yet alluring. Coffee cafes are nostalgic. It signaled the coming of age, of a new, aspiring India that could stay awake all night with evening coffee in the veins.
Blue Pen Strokes 