Coffee pot of changes

I didn't know how many coffee cups indulged made me realize that things change. But I know, I used to hate the bitter taste of coffee. I couldn't fathom how grown-ups swallow them black and sugar-less.

But here I am now,
with black Bolivian roast, sinking down my throat-
straight from the pot, with every bitterness of change,
& nothing left to waste
I drink.

Second last night in four walls

Second last night in the room I have, in my undergraduate years, called home.
I don't know why I'm feeling a little choked up.
My heart is doing silly heavy sinking things.

Oh Shaf, you're so melodramatic.

Truth is, I hate moving.
I get attached to places easily, can you tell?

A Sunday in May

I made my way to the Brewer Park Farmer's Market this morning. I used to love markets, like the ones in St. Jacob's. I can't recall how many times I've visited there but I can remember having chocolate eclairs and truffles many winters ago with my grandparents.

I walked all the way to Brewer, alone. It was breezy than usual, but more spring-like than summer as it should be. I saw yellow dandelions sprouting on the green grass and couldn't recall when I last saw the branches naked- for the now cover with leaves and beautiful white cherry blossoms.

There were many people at the the market. But what caught my eye - between the potted flowers to fresh vegetables - was an organic chocolate booth. It conjured memories of Ixcacao Maya Belizean Chocolate in San Pedro Columbia just months ago. I chatted with the lady at the booth, and shared with her my experiences and little knowledge I had on the traditional Mayan techniques of harvesting cacao. Something within me stirred a little, when she suggested I sample the Amazonian dark chocolate. There was a similar bitter tangy after-taste, that my tongue was capable of recognizing. Much so that I spent the rest of my day craving Mayan spicy chocolate and the cacao drink I had made by Martha. 

I walked from Sunnyside to Bank St., to clear my mind. I decided to drop off my overdue library books at the public library. Only, on my way, I bumped into the librarian who works at Carleton. I have seen him around campus many times, and recognize him from when I first starting working as a Peer-helper in my second year. He's a kind man, and although we frequently exchanged "hello's" and polite smiles, I have never had a decent conversation with him until today. It was an interesting chat. For some reason, it felt surreal that a chapter of my undergraduate years is about to end....

Passing by mothers with bouquets of flowers at the Glebe, and a lady with gerberas on the basket of her bicycle...to smiling at a mother pushing her son's tricycle across the traffic lights. 

I couldn't find a profound meaning to sum up the day....but it was an interesting one worth remembering by putting to words, I suppose.

Hummingbird & Robin

Though noiseless, the Hummingbird sings. And he sings of subtle passion to the she-Robin seeking her company. He lures for her sympathy into simple things. Finding excuses to practice flying in the breaking dawn of mornings. They chirp in lively chuckles-

In the same sugar-maple tree.

And the Robin, bold & red-feathered, like her inner spirit knows compassion. Spurred friendship in the summer's nest....when beautiful Robin knows the Hummingbird seeks more.

She pretentiously ignores, leaves him yearning unfathomably, but ever so coyly. So soars the spirit of the Hummingbird, in a tempest of merry.

But when all of the other birds migrate south to mark end of summer season, the Robin knows she too must flee. For in this moment of sweet, temporary liberty. She must return to her lover; an orange-feathered he-Robin in an acacia tree.

Leaving the Hummingbird with brittle memories, hopeless dreams, and broken-winged.

Coffee houses & cups

Lively is the sound of chatter 
at a coffee house, 
interrupted by clicking cups
& the acoustic man sings 
in a culture of good spirits

illusion

Now only the wind
knows of unspoken promises
& something within
reassures the illusion was true

You said you found certainty,
But I think I see through all that.