In a Café With a Meager Crowd

(Activists’ Reunion)

They often sit in a café

whose meager crowd is its lure

while the tea brews

and cream perfects its assault

on the blackness of the coffee

Their talk spirals from the pit of the mundane

to the limits of the profound

like morning glory leaping out a high fence

from the wet mound of earth

They swap stories about small victories

and large victories

About injustice which is never big or small

because size is not a benchmark of evil

which is the only benchmark of itself

They snatch moments of silence among them

that, as though soap bubbles, readily burst

into congruent opinions.

Their collective spirit hangs over them,

shrivels at their depression,

over their helplessness

They do so much. Nothing is done

as if they are pouring water

into permeable barrel

Injustice always cracks victory

What is peace in the cool valleys

when the hills are trembling in fear?

Supplicant for vigor, their spirit nags them

to let laughter soak up the tears that weigh it down

One, somehow, catches the plea

He starts sculling the dialectics

till they syncopate

into chats about the weather

Not only. Even the latest scandals

involving the movie and political stars.

The inane giggles buoy up their sagging spirit

At the close of night,

they move to different directions

looking forward to the next date

in a café with a meager crowd. / chytdaytec