With Each Sip of Ceylon Tea, poem by Mark Tulin at Spillwords.com
Yasasi Rajapakse

With Each Sip of Ceylon Tea

With Each Sip of Ceylon Tea

written by: Mark Tulin



As I drink my black Ceylon tea,
on the porch of ageless wisdom,
I turn my gaze to the flowers,
a garden of stars on earth,
timeless tulips, eternal daffodils,
and bramble bushes without their thorns.

A warm cup of tea to hold is needed
to appreciate this world.
There is a spirit inside each teacup,
a burst of glorious sunshine
infused with friendly souls
connecting me to the universe.

With each sip of hot tea,
I taste two leaves and a bud,
rolled and fermented,
dried and sifted,
hand-picked by female sages
in the highlands of Sri Lanka.

The tea speaks in
warm flowing vapors,
and its magical qualities
soothe my metaphysical
aches and pains:

I am delicate.
I am immortal.
With each sip of tea,
I share my life
with the ancestors of the fields.

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