Christmas Coffee

By Hiranya Mukherjee

Sitting at a coffee shop

I listened.

Underneath the jolly shrubberies of the murmur of the seats– carrying forth swiftly

The flowing spirit of the festive mood

Underneath the clatter and clang of the mirthful fork, spoon, and plate

Danced surreptitiously, a solemn whisper—

A Christmas Carol.

I couldn’t make out the words, they were shy enough not to divulge their plot

Yet, I could taste the stillness of winter, being creased by a sudden gentle wet breeze

And the scent of the leaves that would rouse up from the breezy caress—

Shrugging off the languish of white and snow—

Giggling forth with a tangy yellow of provencal bloom

Preparing to host, the imminent Spring

I listened. I smelled. I tasted.

And conversed in silence, with the antique record player

Sitting on the window sill.

By Hiranya Mukherjee