The Poet’s Cup of Tea

Steam curls like thoughts I never wrote,
Soft light through windowpane floats.
In every sip, a pause, a plea —
To find the poet still in me.

We rush so much these days that we forget the poetry of small rituals. The slow pour of water. The warmth that meets your palms. The silence between sips where something ancient stirs — gratitude, memory, peace.

Tea is not just a drink. It’s a ceremony of awareness.
It’s how the heart says, “I’m still here.”

So when life feels heavy, don’t search for grand inspiration.
Just make tea.
And as the steam rises, let it remind you that even the simplest things can turn into verses when you’re paying attention.