ALL RIGHT TESERVED BY THE AITHOR
Date 13/04/25
I made tea today
the way you used to—
strong, no sugar,
silence steeped in every sip.
The cup was chipped,
but it held the heat.
Funny how grief
boils over
in the smallest of things.
The kettle whistled like a memory
I couldn’t unhear.
And I drank it all—
just to feel you
burn my throat again.
RAJAT CHANDRA SARMAH
GUWAHATI, ASSAM, INDIA
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