Friday, 17 November 2006

The Wine Glass

I stare at the wine glass,


The wine is rare,

I have never seen anything like it.

I hold it up against the light,

I can see through it

Yet it is solid

And I see nothing else

It pulls me into itself

I touch the glass

Uncertain, unsure

I lift it off the table,


Afraid of snapping the stem,

Afraid of mixing blood-red wine

With wine-red blood.

The glass is now in my hand

I lift it towards me

I’ve seen others do this before,

Never done it myself

Thought about it, yes,

But never imagined it would happen

The glass is an inch from my face

I swirl the wine,


The aroma overpowers me

I close my eyes and sniff again

And this time it enters my head

Like it has a vengeance to fulfil

I’m a little heady already

I raise the glass to my lips now,

Anticipating the experience

Wondering, if what I thought

Is indeed how it will taste

I am pleasantly surprised.

I thought as it swirled around in my mouth

That I wouldn’t like it

Thought it might be too bitter

Not something for my palate

I thought I had sensed it all,

Thought I had seen

How it intoxicates a one

And again, I am surprised

As the taste kicks in

It is full bodied

A hint of flavour that eludes,

Yet stares you in the face

Demanding that you tell what it is

That you think you taste.

The flavour hesitates,

Holding back until the last moment

To really show you what it is like

I swallow,

Thinking it is over,

It can’t possibly get any better,

And then it hits me.

I blink in surprise,

The after-taste overpowering me

This is like nothing I had ever anticipated

I want to drink in more,

I want to keep this feeling going,

But the glass is shaking in my hand.

Unsteady, unsure if I can stay on my feet,

I slide back to the table,

Wanting to put it down.

As the glass reaches the table,

My hand shakes violently,

I’m afraid I will spill it all,

Afraid I will lose that flavour

To a stain that will never come off

Slowly, carefully,

The glass inches toward the table.

Delicately, it places itself on the surface

Dancing in the light.

Sunshine bounces of the deep red

Making it seem alive, afire

Almost mocking me,

Daring me to come closer.

Now it is the glass

That’s looking at me,

Sizing me up

Seeing what I almost mismanaged

I am convinced

I am not worthy

The glass is changing

I do not understand

The glass grows

But the wine remains the same

Filling less and less of the glass

Every time I look at it

But still, it seems to overflow.

I stare at the wine glass,


2 member protest rally:

Animesh Kulkarni said...


jhayu said...

@ Animesh.
Thanks! It's one of the only poems I've ever written. I had an excellent muse.

Post a Comment

Talk, my friend. Now that you've read this section, the urge to speak has increased. I know. It's all right. It happens...
Stop fighting it. Talk.