Chai tea
melting on my tongue
as I write words for someone
the spices go down my throat
people always seem to know
I am drinking this piping hot
due to sweet sounds of satisfaction
I can tell from their curious reaction
and a sprinkle of cinnamon
just for good measure
they might not understand
but chai tea takes me elsewhere
to an enchanting land
overseas
India, enchantment, and me
beautiful land
flying over it with a mystical carpet
something there is magical
even though there is darkness
the forest envelopes
the people move on
but it is all over
for now
I am gone.
About the Creator
Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis6 days ago in Humans
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