Rain

It didn't rain much, did it, you ask.
the windshield of your car has a few drops
sitting quietly and reflecting the world,
in no hurry to flow down or to evaporate.

While I, quite oblivious of the world and its rain,

sit drenched, like a plant after 

a long drought, in the rain 

that poured down from your lips.

Cofee

Amma would pour hot coffee into a tumbler

And place it in a bowl of water.

The four-year-old, just out of bed,

Sleep still at work sealing her eyelids,

Would sit looking at the rocking coffee boat

With its steam-sail.

The boat would sell coffee fragrance 

To the little nostrils.