It's silent-the chairs bear witness,
The table bears the burden of imagination.
A rickshaw crawls along the lonely road.
The yellow cup stands bravely.
It's dark,the air coloured with fear,
Loneliness can but consume you.
Yet the yellow cup glows like a dewdrop.
Brewing liquid hope and faith.
It's humid,the heat clings to me,
Like the drop of tea sliding down.
The yellow cup doesn't encourage the drop,
Yet its shape allows it free escape.
It's forgiving-the last stand,
The night begs to indulge in sleep.
The day knows better,commanding action.
Still the yellow cup waits for rest.
It's faith,the enlightenment we seek,
The yellow cup knows patience,
Like the soul seeks transcendence,
As the mind demands creativity.
It's silence,the yellow cup shattered it,
With just a stand that it held.
The hope standing like a tall pillar,
In a mind that seeks but silence.
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