The Storm that Raged in a Tea Cup
A dark curtain had been lifted
then came white ones with
meagre manna or mists
for pretty patterns.
A sultan stirred some tea
using a golden paddle like a ladle.
The tea was in a tea cup, a mug
that mounted on a saucer, a saucer
that endured the cup’s hot temper.
As the sultan stirred, particles
of beverages melted with joy
they even when to the sultan’s
throat with glowing glee until
reality came in the scarlet hell
of busy organs.
The sultan stirred and tea stared…
bubbles formed, waves rose,
wind whistled a provocative song.
A storm was a hummingbird; wind wrestled
with tea, the cup broke and rage
lathered the tea into a sea
that drowned the sultan
and gulped the house
into its runny stomach.
Prison Break: door burst, the sea
tea ranted on streets, sank cities
and crowned the country.
A nudge is needed, a poke
is the only language a mind
understands to call this only
an imagination, to calm the storm.