An Invitation to Tea

The hill behind is sprinkled with sugar-snow;
The sky's a clean blue slate.
High up, against this blue,
Few kites glide:
Black dots, in slow motion.

Down here, under the old, gnarled jacaranda,
The sun's a warm purple mass.
Beside me, in the hedges' green
Yellow sunbirds flit:
Fairy lights, in quick flashes.

I've laid tea today, in this warm afternoon sun;
Golden Darjeeling, curled long leaf.
There are muffins too, gooey brown:
Date and Honey-
Fresh off my brand new oven.

As for your salt-tooth, no I've not forgotten-
Its paneer pakora, crisped;
Sprinkled with chat masala;
Tangy, lightly spiced-
Foil to those sweet muffins.

My tea things are bone-china, old and very dear;
White with pretty peonies
In shades of deep dark pink.
They're fine and fragile-
Fleeting, like dreams at dawn.

I had sent you an invite, not too long back,
Cream coloured envelope.
The letters in deep black ink
Lucida Calligraphy-
My favourite font, very ornate.

It must be lying somewhere on your sleek teak desk
Between your black MacBook Air
And your Silver iPhone 7;
Or perhaps, unopened
Under your little black diary.

Oh, I know quite well this diary of yours,
Shiny, leather-bound.
Your writing, firm and precise
With its tall, upward flourishes:
So confident, very ambitious!

This diary I know, is all brimming over now,
With your meticulous plans,
Goals - long term, mid term and short;
Strategies, schemes, schedules
-Deadlined in one jostling frenzy.

They say your schedule is sardine-packed today:
Two Takeovers, three Deals.
In this, your NDA, USP, RIF maze,
My tea invite, forlorn
Has lost its weary way.

And out here now, the sun's pining away,
Night shadows drawing close.
In this freezing moon-rise
The world's turned grayscale-
And your tea has long gone cold.