Coffee

My mom has two spoons of sugar in her coffee

Whereas I make do with half a spoon

Maybe she has discovered the sweetness of life

While I continue to wallow in its bitterness

Ironically, she has been bedridden for almost two decades

And I have been able to roam the outside world

Maybe that is why she is happy

And I remain morose

For her, life and world starts and ends within the four corners of her room

For me, the sky is the limit

Maybe the smallness of her space makes her appreciate the small things in life

While I remain greedily unhappy in the outside world

Someday, I will remain in a smaller world and probably be comfortable and happy like my mother

Till then, I will continue drawing my sorrows from bitter coffee