A hot cup of tea in the morning
Makes me come to life
Otherwise, the body feels like a big mass of jello.
Death couldn’t drag me out of my bed,
Even if it pleaded,
Under the covers, I feel like a king,
The moment I throw them away,
The world, quietly, malignantly waiting near the door,
Swoops and falls on my shoulders
Like an iron mantle,
To bear whose weight without protest,
I must drink tea.
A hot cup of tea
Is my ceramic hearth,
My urban bonfire,
By whose side, I tell myself old stories
And dry my soaked soul.