The Colour Of Tea by Amlanjyoti Goswami


The Colour of Tea


I once made tea in the forest

With twigs and dry leaves.

It came out yellow

As if the fallen leaves had something to do with it.


The colour of tea is usually blue,

Like the colour of your soul, melancholy with evening

The fall of light

Only you don’t know it yet.


Tea blends with scents of a place

Takes on a different colour

In your cup, brown. In hers, yellow.

In the pot, it looks for something to call home.


Then there is kettle pressure

Throwing off steam

Modern living.

Nowadays they can make tea out of nothing


Just a few floating bags would do.

But that says nothing about

Ginger and cardamom, clove and jaggery.

Try them. Empires rose and fell on them.


Sometimes, in the mood, tea becomes

Someone else – a stranger.

Another flavour.

Hinging on spice but not quite


Enough to wake up

Dying stars, mid-morning.

And have you ever tried purple tea?

I once fell in love with it


I reached for the colour of sky

And let those drops fall in my empty cup,

A trickle. It was the old taste of salt.

I added butter and thought of nirvana.



Amlanjyoti Goswami



Amlanjyoti Goswami’s poetry has been published around the world, in India, Nepal, Bangladesh, Hong Kong, the UK, USA, South Africa, Kenya and Germany, and in the anthologies, 40 under 40: An Anthology of Post Globalisation Poetry (Poetrywala), A Change of Climate (Manchester Metropolitan University, Environmental Justice Foundation and the University of Edinburgh) and the Sahitya Akademi anthology of Modern English Poetry. His poems have also appeared on street walls of Christchurch, exhibitions in Johannesburg and buses in Philadelphia. His recent collection of poems, River Wedding, has just been published by Poetrywala and has been widely reviewed. He grew up in Guwahati, Assam and lives in Delhi.



About this poem

"Poetry is my morning tea. Its colours change with the lines."

Recent Posts

See All

These Days by Jeannie Prinsen

These days the sun's in hiding. Morning drapes open to darkness. Later, when I walk, flakes spin grey against white sky. Beyond this snow-globe bubble fires burn, bombs drop. I look behind at my footp

The Way Things Are by Elodie Rose Barnes

The Way Things Are It begins after the unpacking has ended; the gathering-together of crumbs for bread, enough for a loaf, enough to say to this new place - we belong. We save some. Hoard them in litt

An Obsessive Soliloquy by Carl Boon

An Obsessive Soliloquy Please cover the bananas— their brown scars in the morning remind me of my mother’s skin after the surgery—the chaos of wires, the chaos of death. It cannot be like that. Tablec

 © 2020 Dust Poetry Magazine

The copyright to all contents of this site is held either by Dust Poetry Magazine or by the individual poets, and none of the material may be used elsewhere without written permission. For reprint enquiries, please contact dustpoetrymagazine@gmail.com