Tea Cups

The black tea cup in a foreign land

waits, a lone traveler

gazing at the buzzards

circling under an alien sun.

On a crowded street, an earthen cup

is lost in a swarm of ants,

a stream of countrymen chanting

familiar tunes, receding quietly to remote ruins.

And thirst washes my throat

dry, a sandstorm forcing me to shut my eyes,

as I step into the road,

a blind man on foot, waiting for a car.