by Omar Ahmed AlKhulaqi
When my lady prepares her tea,
I hear the boiling water spewing,
And like the cup, it streams in me,
The steamed herb of my undoing.
With her wand in circles I go,
Stirring and stirring me down to my soul,
Anticlockwise, suspending time,
I surrender to her design.
Snapping back at the wand’s clink-clink !
The hypnosis ends as she blinks,
I gaze at this spirit of sort,
Our eyes commune where words fall short,
She hands me the potion that scents her hair,
Her chai! O such an intimate affair,
My senses rippling, eager to erupt,
A whiff of my soul, brewed inside a cup.