Like a cup of warm coffee
Kept on his table from long,
He takes a sip from me
As he kills a little piece of my heart
Every time he does.
He then keeps the cup away.
I long for him, hurt,
For just one more sip,
One more kiss,
One more time together.
"I promise I'll forget you," I lie.
He gives it a thought,
Reminiscing the last kiss.
Bitter.
He refuses.
Another chance?
He reconsiders.
Our lips meet yet again...
And while he takes the sip gently,
Taking in all of me slowly,
Killing a part of me as he does,
I know it is not over
Because after a little while
I'd ask for another chance,
He'd comply.
I'd call it love,
Knowing very well
That someday the coffee will be cold,
He will move on to another
Cup of warm coffee
Probably not as bitter
As my so-called love.
“Are you a lesbian?” A friend of mine once asked me mockingly when we were discussing about my aversion from some (“some” not “all”) kind of men. “No. But does it matter?” I asked her scornfully. No, I wasn’t bothered that I was asked a question about my sexuality. But what I didn’t understand was that is being a lesbian a matter to be jeered about? What if I was one? Wouldn’t I be hurt and embarrassed that my sexuality was just mocked at? Why are the words “gay” or “lesbian” used as slangs? Another incident, that took place a couple of years back, was when I was teasing two girl friends of mine, accusing them of having an affair. I considered it as normal as teasing a guy and a girl. One of them found it so disrespectful that she, instead of simply denying the fact, chided that she isn’t of such “third class” standard. I later discussed the small argument that we had, with her, trying to make my point that being a lesbian or a transgender doesn’t define anyone’s cla
very nice...Dnt knw y...But ur evry poem reminds of somthn...
ReplyDeletevery nice...Dnt knw y...But ur evry poem reminds of somthn...
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