white mug

this is but me and my simple rituals, which i perform tonight with a white mug, as i revisit this one-way street in jakarta city. cikini.

i came in; and they nodded.

they roasted the beans finer than they usually did,

and poured the strong result into a white mug.

seemed like they knew what i was coming for:

work until late,

right here, close to the window,

where you could see me,

and i could see you,

if you were a pedestrian.

i placed my devices on the round marble table,

and unrolled my earphones from its spiral box.

just by gazing into the white mug,

i could smell and absorb everything:

it contains essential elements of which inspirations are generously made.

i was also thinking of you,

who are perhaps not so keen to go out tonight.

because the forecast said it was about to rain.

it was probably only my guess:

but if i asked you,

directly or through the electronic device that you carried,

wouldn't your answer be ambiguous too?

so i took a pair of antique wooden chairs,

and let the white mug steaming,

blurring the window glass.

it sat unaccompanied

except by me

who was, like it, steaming,

and performing my simple rituals...