Darjeeling, jasmine scents in simmered sencha
All the leaves that fire and water turn to tea
These are all the joy that I could dare to drink
From dawn to dusk to check that I am still alive
And I shall drink until my blood is turning green
For green is thought to be the hue of haunting hope
That heartache brews from love lament and lonely life
This sore is left to stew and taste of bitter tannin
But still the beverage must be sipped and savoured
Before it boils and dreams could vanish into vapour
It keeps descending down my spine to burn my bones
And flows and floods the maze of mires and memories
Spread in swathes of swamps submerged with sorrow
What sweetening good is it to swallow all that sweat?
It might appear as Bayern’s Lagerbier or lustful liquor
But wine or whisky wears away the woes and worries
Tea however tastes of neither potions nor elated poison
I believe indeed it won’t relieve or peeve whoever grieves
And yet am I awake at night with heaving hopes of thirst
Brooding over bruises steeped in fumes of brew addiction
Laying down the lines and lyrics lost in leaves of Longjing