By Dan Tan
13 December, 2012
Enter the cafe of quaint and cozy coffee. Some black-clothed crew at the counter, uddering coffee machines the look of time capsules. Invite yourself down upon a wooden chair, dim lighting -- listen to the slow and altzing music. Let it permeate soul. You're one of the few reserved patrons.
The matron of the cafe's a cup of coffee of your pick and choice, served by smiling hands that's sketched a mural upon the coffee-face.
A simple rosetta or leaf means the staff's busy. A peacock or winking bear implies the artist's a little cheesy with the moment. That's nothing to do with the toast of sincerity.
Designs are merely cream that layer brown soul,
the sip of which rejuvenates your tired one.
In an Empty Seaside Cafe
Here, to the treble surf in letting go,
blue that envelops all worries and
tosses them to the sun like bags of sand.
Here, the blue of algae or toned midday glow
that carry forth on wrinkles, white steamer babies
and place them gently in the cribs of bays.
Here, the laughing skies and cloud-bouquets
for candy-dreamers and lost ladies
that grow to dance in isles beyond the reach
of heart. How by the dusking blue the blush
grows deeper to envelop the region's hush.
Here, the troubled fools you cannot teach
why birds and ships must dock, and leave, why songs
will always play an ending note. Here,
the empty shack that leaves its chairs for dear
beachwatchers living in old longing.