The aroma of the morning newspaper,
With freshly brewed coffee in hand,
Reminds me that I’m alive,
Not miserable all the time.
These fragrances are addictive,
Those sentences conduct emotions high,
Colourful imagination,
Congested with events.
Intense information,
War and peace,
Crime and ease,
Lots of politics,
A little opinion,
A bit of literature and sport,
With a sprinkle of entertainment news —
A perfect beginning for a few.
And the coffee!
The smell of roasted beans,
Transparent smoke forming
Ghostly white shapes.
And I cradle the warm mug,
A little white paper cup,
Held between my palms.
Four sugar cubes,
Now reduced to two —
That’s my perfect coffee latte.
The fairies know that too.
Beneath the sky,
In scorching heat and October’s wine,
Through every cold day of December,
I always cherish this ritual.
It’s the dream of my life,
Like a heaven of lyrics
On the Earth’s rhyme.
Sabreena Khan
