The coffee cookies
And the tantalizing aromas
The earthy roasted beans
The sweet cookie
Tantalize the palate
And the senses
They rise with the steam
Like the rising senses
And our passions
Brown and creamy
Soft and smooth
Just like the love
That brews within
©®Madhumita
This morning, I lift the mug to my lips,
the steam rising gently into my face,
carrying with it the scent of roasted coffee,
warm, familiar, grounding.
I take a slow sip.
The brew is dark, rich,
but softened by a curl of cream
and just enough sugar
to blur the edges of the bitterness.
The taste clings to me,
sweet and lingering,
and for a moment,
it’s not just coffee I’m tasting.
It’s you.
Your last kiss,
still etched into the corners of my mouth,
as if your lips had left behind
some part of you
I could sip again and again.
The bitterness comes next,
strong and sudden,
the way goodbyes always are.
But it’s covered by the soft froth on top,
a sweetness that settles everything,
like the way I smile now,
even when I think of you.
Because that’s how it is,
my emotions, layered like this drink:
the darkness at the base,
honest and deep,
followed by warmth,
followed by ache,
then softened, always,
by the memory of love.
I drink slowly,
not to savor the coffee,
but to stay with you
a little longer.
©®Madhumita
This morning, the air was quiet,
the kind of quiet that follows a dream,
half warm, half aching.
I reached for the mug without thinking,
its warmth a comfort in my hands,
its scent rising like a memory
I hadn’t asked for, but welcomed anyway.
The first sip was dark,
bold as a truth I hadn’t spoken.
A curl of cream swirled through it,
softening the edge,
a gentle deception,
like the way you used to laugh
after an argument,
making peace taste sweet again.
There was sugar too, just enough,
the way you liked it when you made it for me.
That sweetness lingered on my lips,
not just the sugar,
but something else,
the echo of your last kiss,
still tracing the shape of my mouth
like it had never left.
The bitterness came next,
as it always does,
sudden, full, undeniable.
It rushed in like your absence,
fast and sharp,
the kind of taste you can’t ignore.
But the froth,
light and sweet,
rose to meet it,
just as memory rises
to soothe what reality bruises.
And there I sat,
coffee cooling between sips,
heart warming between thoughts,
your kiss, the cream,
the bite of loss,
the balm of remembering.
Even in the ache,
there was a sweetness,
a quiet joy folded into the sadness.
And I smiled...
not because it didn’t hurt,
but because it still tasted like love.
©®Madhumita
My lips meet the rim of the mug,
warm and waiting,
I sip the brown brew,
dark as longing,
softened by a curl of cream,
a whisper of sugar
melting into the heat.
The creamy sweetness clings
to the edges of my lips,
lingers,
like your last kiss,
still echoing softly
against my mouth,
as if time hadn’t dared
to wipe it clean.
Bitterness surges beneath the surface,
a sudden rush,
sharp like the ache of distance—
but the frothy top,
gentle and sweet,
covers it all
like a smile worn bravely
over the quiet ache.
Just like my heart,
happy in memory,
even as it carries
the weight of your absence.
Soft.
Creamy.
Sweet.
Still smiling
in the face of the dark.
©®Madhumita
The coffee brews, slow and bold,
its rich aroma fills the air,
earthy, roasted, deep with stories
of distant lands and morning rituals.
It dances upward, curling in steam,
a whisper of warmth against cool dawn.
Beside it lies a sweet delight,
a cookie, golden, tender, soft,
its sugary scent a gentle contrast
to the strength of the dark brew.
Together, they tease the senses,
one bold, the other sweet,
a pairing made for moments shared.
They rise with the steam,
those flavors, those feelings,
stirring not just taste, but soul,
tugging at threads of memory and desire.
Every sip, every bite,
is a note in a quiet song
only hearts in tune can hear.
And as we sit, fingers curled
around warm ceramic mugs,
we feel it, that slow simmering,
something brown and creamy,
soft and smooth,
not just in the cup,
but between us.
For in this simple morning ritual,
love brews quietly within,
not loud, not rushed,
but deep and sure,
like the coffee,
like the sweetness,
like us.
©®Madhumita
The sun descends in robes of fire and gold,
A king retiring to the edge of day.
His glory fades, yet stories will be told
Of how he burned, then softly slipped away.
The moon looks on with eyes of silver light,
A timid gaze, so full of silent grace.
She hides behind the veil of coming night,
Yet longs to touch the warmth upon his face.
She dreams he’ll turn and cast a glance her way,
To brush her pale cheek with a golden hand.
To meet him once within the arms of day,
And write their tale across the sky's wide span.
But time denies what hearts may not erase
A love that lives in light, yet lacks embrace.
*Sonnet
©®Madhumita
The sun prepared to fall
a slow descent into the arms of the horizon,
draped in golden-orange silk,
etching its legacy
across the vast canvas of the sky.
And there
the moon lingered, watching,
bashful, veiled in pearly mist,
eyes brimming with yearning
and unspoken dreams.
She watched him go,
every evening
the same ache,
the same silence.
A love never named,
never returned.
She longed
for a fleeting glance,
a warm caress
of his golden fingers.
To meet, just once,
beneath the open heavens,
in the full bloom of day,
wrapped in an embrace
that time would never forget.
But she waits
always waits
to write a love story
not in the stars,
but in history.
A tale soft with longing,
fragile yet eternal,
effervescent with hope,
fragrant with desire.
©®Madhumita
