Freshly Ground Coffee Poem by Agnidhra Ghosh

Waking up,
Brushing aside the fragments of shattered dreams that lay scattered across the floor,
Making your way across to the bathroom, stumbling through the door,
Looking into the dusky mirror, staring unsurprised into the depths of the bleary eyes that stare right back.
Not a wink of sleep last night, or any night, an insomniac.
Looking forward to the rest of the day with scorn and disdain,
The monotony of it all seeming to deep fry your brain.
Musty, moist socks of yesterday dumped into the machine,
Waiting and watching for them to emerge sparkling and clean.
Then the sizzling sight, sound and smell,
The labours of your own hands that tastes so well,
Flip the bacon and eggs on a plate from the pan,
Or perhaps breakfast today will come from a can,
Reheated 'fresh' beans on toast,
Maybe its the same everywhere, coast to coast.
But now its time time to make a choice,
'I can't come in today', in a raspy voice,
Or drag yourself through the hour-long commute.
For today, you stand resolute.
The all too familiar cubicle all in white,
Almost blinded by the sudden reflection of light,
Smell of lavender and jasmine aerosol,
Eight to five, attending that important call,
Grab your bag and run down the escalator,
A brisk goodbye and 'I'll see you later.'
Make your way throgh the vehicular maze,
The setting sun burning through the urban haze.
Wan streetlights barely aglow arranged in rows,
Hardly holding the night back, and the darkness grows.
Reach home and breathe a sigh of relief,
'Tomorrow will be better', that mistaken belief.