04:43, she sunk, in tea cup of melancholia


so many thoughts and people wafting through my mind today- like the famous crossings of shibuya, tokyo. as season changes, snow and mountains of workload melts away, to make room for the new. underneath it all, there they were- fragments of pasts and what may become future.

the night time solitude draws out the most tender feelings- they hibernated underneath the storm of mundane tasks of daily grind, till the softest new leaf could break through the smallest crack of the proletariat asphalt. though theyve been there for the entire winter, only getting noticed now- carrying the smallest portion of what the stories may have been-

who did that toy ring belonged to? did she cry when she lost it?

who wouldve tossed that fag end? in frustration or jest? in bravado or with reluctance, knowing that's the last one in the box?

they lie naked on the sidewalk, in faded glory.  as people pass it by, stepping on and on.

pot of tea sits, 4am bitter. blood of leaves, strewn in violence of hot water, they release the memory of hot days and cool nights, when they lived, grew, stretched out to sky. now silent, sinking to the bottom, with no more joy, flight or a dance in the wind.

without companion, the tea is losing its steam. alone, i no longer desire to consume its warmth. perhaps i am the stone status, i just do not know it yet.  indifferent to the world and its busy stories.  frozen enough to watch the pot of tea losing its vitality and drama.  perhaps that's appropriate for now.  wee hours in the city, where there are no birds to chip in the turn of the night to morning. only difference may be the absence of any kind of traffic.


leaves speak from the bottom of the cup: sad. sad is alright.

soaked in spring melancholia.

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