The clock struck eleven,

And the doors were opened,

The crowd got in, filled the void of space;

My eyes caught hold of a table in the corner,

A reserved seat and an organized dish,

A coffee, some cookies

And a cooked fish;

With a sunflower bright and shining,

Unlike others, there was no rose;

A single chair

With a platter no one dare to choose;

Something about the table made me wait,

The person to sit was actually now late?

The clock struck seven,

And the place was now shutting,

Curiosity in me made me ask,

“Why is the chair still empty?

Do you have food to waste, plenty?”

The waiter smiled and answered me-

“That’s the man who was in a war,

Fighting for us, is no more.”

Tears filled my eyes,

When I realized,

Waited, the pending coffee.  


7 thoughts on “THE PENDING COFFEE

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