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June 2008, vol 4 no 2

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Magdalena Dale

 

A Cup of Tea

I watch the tea cup fill with savory warm drink. It has the color of amber and a little bitterish taste. I remember the Japanese tea ceremony, when is important to intuit what we don't dare to say. In this old mystery only the personages are new. We share the same earless cup of tea. I hold it in the goblet of my palm and the marks of my lips remain on the brim of the porcelain. I don't use chakin to wipe them. I follow silently how your lips settle down over my marks. I close my eyes and I keep silent. It is nothing to say. From the old porcelain, the fragrant vapors spoken instead of us.

Only between us
these fragrant vapors,
the same cup

At the departure I observe the others drink tea with honey and little cakes. We preferred the simple tea with pure fragrance and the taste little bitter. Such is life sometimes!

An empty samovar
the persistent sweet
and bitterish taste

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