I christened my sailboat
With a bottle of red wine,
That tasted like cracked glass
And something more intangible.
Perhaps,
The tartness of
Over ripe grapes
On a vineyard in Italy,
In a golden October,
That grew out of
My china cup.
I set sail my paper boat
And let it traipse lazily in my teacup
As it swum circles
Around my eyes and in my head
Before bobbing up and down
In the very centre
Like curdled milk
That sat sour and unbecoming.
I watched and watched as seasons ran by,
And as monsoons cried
Leaving puddles for sailboats to swim in,
I drank my sorrows away,
In a teacup
Made of winter sun and forged in alcoholism –
A mixture
Of alcohol, rainwater, Earl Grey
And soggy paper.

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featured artwork by Palak Kumar