A sere serenity settles
on her brow,
when she writes that line.
A sweet smile spreads
on his lips,
when he reads that line.
Perhaps, she writes
to make him hers.
And he reads
to know her
as- own.
Beyond the clatter
of wheels, and smokes
of city,
they meet
at the tea table.
Beneath the pages
of magazine,
in between the desperate
times for attention,
they meet
at the tea table.
As the vapor leaves
the rim
of cup,
his fingers reach for
her column,
and they share
the page,
the verse,
the words,
the feelings,
together,
undivided,
all-
at the same time
in the same breath.
But, Oh!
he has not met her, yet.
And she doesn’t know
if there is any
he or not.
Still, he has read
Her enough
to stay in love.
And she believes
in Him enough
to write for him
everyday…
Just
to meet at the tea table.
