Flowed out of the cup

Continuing from my previous post… (Read Saving Bapu Privately – a DreamWorks production for context.)

I climbed out of bed, as early as 7:30, brushed my teeth and decided to make myself a hot cup of chocolate. I had a good number of pages left to turn and needed something to put me on track. I put the milk on the hot plate. With nothing better to do, I stood gazing at my coffee cup.

Putting shape,
to an amorphous cloud,
here I was,
drawing lines out of
drawn lines and curves.

Top-left, I saw -
Rain,
pouring down,
encasing,
putting behind bars,
the past and the present.

Bottom-left, I caught -
Rivers,
of freshness and fertility,
of thought and joy,
flowing,
quenching,
meandering,
surrendering.

Top-right, I envisioned -
Ra himself,
As a wily merchant,
selling warmth and light,
for valuable vapours,
to adorn his abode.

Bottom-right, I imaged -
something incoherent,
with the rest,
something incoherent,
with itself,
for the lines met,
further the lines crossed.
It was out of place.
It felt human.

Just as the flow from the cup stemmed, (you guessed right :o ) the flow of milk began. It was a rather generous overflow. I ended up spending the next half an hour with the electric hot plate, struggling to get the dried cakes of milk off the coils and the crevices. My Sunday morning was going as per plan. A plan governed by Murphy’s laws.