the woman of morn...

Riding along, as usual, I thought,
It was time to stop somewhere,
Tired kind of,as I was,
Hitting the wet bluish black road as early as the pre-dawn...

So I stopped,
And noticed a tea-stall clean
As clean as the open slate of mind in the morn...

And there she was making tea...
Her black hair untied, oiled, shiny,
Falling over her shoulders,
And I looked at her face...calm...but full of love unrequited...
I sat on the wooden bench
Being just another thirsty traveler...
She handed me warmth,
Cupped in plastic...
I stared at her curious eyes...
And ...
I lit up the first fag
Leaving from my mouth slowly the white airy poison;

Then suddenly she asked:
'So...why you've come here?... missed the path?'
I said nothing but looked
At her face full of warmth...
And shook my head as if feeling sorry for being a jaywalker into her place;

Then

I dropped a few coins on her open palm
As if I dropped a lot of my state, jaywalking, waywardness...
She saw it all with her intent shiny eyes...

'Please do come again, missing your path...'
She said, her face having half smile...
I felt pained...
I felt helplessly agonized, knowing the tears that filled to the brim, my seagull-heart...

As I descended from the wooden bench
And got ready for the long ride again...
She repeated:
'Do come again, even if you come confounding your destined route...'
I just smiled,
With a candle burning inside,
And the molten wax melting forever...inside...