The mystical plan

I thought I held it for life,

But again it escaped into the void,
I looked above, hoping to find it, 
But I was lost in the endless expanse, 
So much beauty in the sky, I was numb,
That shimmering star, or is it a meteor,
Is someone looking at me from that red star,
Can my heart hold this unceasing reach,
Ah, look at the flawed enchantress,
With a new shape each day with every phase,
The eternity engulfs everything I am,

I am under the spell of the deep dark sky,
Feeling like a speck in this mystical plan.
 

Coffee makes me so

I am used, I am abused, and I am overused.

Yes, I am the everyday coffee mug. But not just your ‘everyday’ everyday. I am used for her coffee, day in and day out. She says coffee doesn’t taste the same in any other mug. I snuggle the warm liquid harder so it stays warm enough for her. Every time she sips from my mouth, I try to turn every sip as mesmerising and refreshing as her first one. No matter what they wash me with, I’ve assumed the soul of coffee so I can enliven her experience a bit more.

You know you reach a point in life where you do not mind being used and unappreciated just coz you are somebody’s habit. Humans strangely and loosely tie themselves to habits. One day after another, they make these habits so deeply ingrained in their lives, and believe that they are entangled to them. More habits, the higher the heap of confused web. 

I know I’m not her ‘forever’. Just wait till I have a little crack, and I will be abandoned and lonely as the old haggard person on the streets. 

Now, now, you must think the reason for this coffee mug to be so insolent or pensive. Well, coffee makes me so.