Chilly is the morning and is dark
Her hand rests on her chest; behind light
She's holding her coffee with steam
This is us; how we live
To coffee we're addicts
Inside too line is long
Its head-tail, hard to see
If you ask "How are you? "
"Cannot talk; let it be"
She means "After coffee".

In my mind, like always
I fly on carpet; I'm in air
To La Paz, Brazil
Where they grow coffee beans
I think of Africa; Ethiopia
Where coffee got name, life

Then smile and inside
I'm rebel (as have been)
Talk to them; some speech
"Rise and raise your price
We're addicts and in need
It's your right, yes indeed
Hurry up; don't be shy."

And answer, as has been
Like the past, it's silence
"You deserve to suffer".
Angry; shout at them.
"One deserves what he gets."
I skipped what was rest:
"If not fights for righteous, "

In my nose I smell
"Coffee beans are roasted."

by Nassy Fesharaki

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