In Heaven, There is No Tea

But in tea, there is heaven. There is heaven in: The cold February mornings eating Grahams and San Marino tuna before rumblings on streets off to the dramatic river-highway of EDSA; The lurking on birds on old sky wires waltzing with death; The long wait for that lucky bus A amongst hundreds of passing bus Bs and Cs; The beat of speeding feet under 'Filipino time' on going to work (some going back to home); The silence of a running elevator carrying familiar faces everyday; The greetings from strangers to strangers passing lanes and bridges; The stares and curiosity before antique cobwebs and empty spider shell; The scent of second hand books filling dark drawers of every Book Sale stores; The march of shadows heading North bound lane and South bound lane like moths chasing for city lights; The solo walk to Paxton St. in close midnight hour hungry like a woodland bear dreaming of a healthy salmon feast; The patience it takes to unlock a vintage door-lock; The voices of same old DJs playing random classic OPMs on a jazzy Friday night; The last loud reading of the works of the great dead; The last talk to frog who acts like almost god-of-not-paying-attention; The last sacred romance with the moon; The last drink of low-fat milk before bedtime rituals...

...and more and more.

- ksm / 2015