Cafe and Rain

Every time it rains, I go to a cafe.
It’s a blessed land.
It creates an ambience of love.
The comforting homey aroma of warm baked food welcomes you.
The soothing, mellow background music makes you settle in.
The large glass windows are so inviting,
You can while away time dreamily looking outside,
Watching the raindrops and the empty black wet streets.
The warm yellow lights of the cafe elevate the romance in the air.
The rustic wooden interiors bring back that old world charm.
Oh and the mesmerizing, divine scent of coffee,
How it draws on my soul!
That tempting, sinful indulgence.
There’s something about the smell of coffee, I tell you.
That strong attraction!
This is where all the yoga sessions come into play.
Deep deep inhalations and a long sigh of satisfaction.
Somehow wrong but feels so right, perhaps like an extra marital affair.
As I call myself a chai lover.
But, who can deny the combination of butter croissants and coffee.
It’s a match made in heaven, don’t you think?

Now, the best part about cafes is,
Somehow nobody bothers you.
No one gives a second glance.
When you are being all dreamy and pensive by yourself.
It’s like.. they understand that feeling.
Especially these cute lil neighbourhood coffee shops.
Totally love their relaxed vibe.
Everyone is lost in their fancy world of imagination.
You can just sit alone with food and coffee.
Writing down notes on a piece of paper,
Borrowing a pencil or a pen from the attendants.
Or, you will often find someone sitting in a corner reading a book.
Or, somebody with headphones crouched on their laptop.
Or, a couple –
Sitting cozily on a couch
Lost in each other’s eyes.
Or, you will find a group of friends,
Sharing stories excitedly and giggling.
Or, you see a tired soul,
Just stopping by to relax the bones.
Whatever be the reason,
Coffee shops don’t really care who you are.
They just let you be.
Content.

Photo by Huu1ef3nh u0110u1ea1t on Pexels.com

Did you like the post? If yes, then I would love to know what you think about coffee shops. Leave a comment down below, like, share, and follow. Thank you! ❤

On World Poetry Day

Poetry,
Does not have to be a jumble of words
Or, beautiful sounding prose.
It’s what the people always say,
Poetry is in everything that’s around you.

It doesn’t need to be
Created, written, spoken, or sung.
It doesn’t have to always be expressed.
It can be in the unsaid little things of life.

When you close your eyes in prayer,
The reverent bow of your head, my friend, is a poem.

It is a feeling that flows,
It does not have to be controlled,
Who says you need to follow rules, meters, or rhymes
To feel poetry,
and if you do, that’s great too.
Well, then that’s the ultimate form of poetry.

But poetry, my dear, is you.
The emotions that flow inside of you.
The good ones, the bad ones,
The sad ones, the angry ones,
The love, the hate.

When you feel a darkness creeping within,
Gnawing at your skin
Breaking you, pulling you down,
Haven’t you tried to fight, to overcome?
Expecting light at the end of the tunnel?
You have reached your hand out for help,
Right there is hope, right there in your spirit is poetry.

When you are drowned in work,
Day and night with no track of time,
You have forgotten to eat,
Hungry and tired.
But, when you finally raise your head and stretch
In that deep long breath of exhaustion is poetry.

You are hanging onto your life,
In a local crowded train.
Sweating, cursing, sighing,
Pushing, pulling, struggling..
Struggling for a breath of fresh air.
In that struggling, funny anger my lovely one, let us find poetry.

Poetry is not always flowery.
It can be anything that you want it to be.

Doubtless, that the poems written by
The hopeless romantics,
On the falling leaves,
On the blooming trees,
On the rising, thrashing waves,
On the pouring, loving rain
Will always be the rainbows in the skies.

But, let us continue finding beauty
In the most unexpected traces of life.

Some days, the passion to create is so strong,
That everything around seems like a flash of inspiration.
From the morning cup of tea,
Sunshine on the feet,
Crumpled sheets,
A smiling person on the streets,
An empty blank sheet.

There’s a Story Behind Every Door.

A rustic wooden door,
An old forgotten home with broken walls and bricks,
Dried lifeless plants turned crispy and brown in broken pots.
Does anyone live inside?
It looks like it,
There’s a broomstick outside.
Probably, an old woman?
Probably, a family with too many mouths to feed?
Probably, a man who waited too long for his loved one to drop by?
Probably, a recluse content within himself?
Who knows..
What is the story,
Behind this mysterious attractive door.

RIP it

Day 23 Inktober – Rip

Ripping the RIP apart!

They decided to decorate their lawn as a graveyard for Halloween. Little did they know that the skeleton lying underneath the RIP grave would rip it apart and haunt their night.