Oh! aromatic one,
you who in ceramic radiance
can magnetise oceans of flavours,
have become but a menace.
Oh! concocted sprite
of pure race,
Vietnamese, Columbian or Coorgi…
don’t multiply your blends -
stay pure, don’t be swayed by adultery
the way we are.
Let not versions ruin our days,
in addictive indulgence of diluted tastes.
But let the South Indian wife,
in all her morning strife,
satisfy her swami’s morning glee
- a sip of soodu filter kapi.
Oh! aromatic one,
save your humility to save your grace.
You are better razed than glazed
with additives like ginger and elaichi, please!
Not frozen but blazing hot and frothy.
Please hear me and not the
verbal gossip of staffs,
on their boss’s day-off or ‘lay-offs’
precious minutes are wasted on trivial woe,
drunk over shots of your expresso.
Heed my call, mark my words,
if you don’t agree, then let me switch to tea.
Rajashree Anand
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