The Last Drop of Sweet Coffee

That was the last drop of sweet coffee that the old tongue tasted!

Years of pressure on the weak body, to behave like that and not like this, to wear that and not this, to do that and not this, and all the other conventional ways according to the society was now being disowned.

'Culture' they said, but the old eyes had seen enough hypocrisy.

'Social Values' they said, but the old ears had heard enough interpretations.

'Success' they said, but the old nose had smelled enough perfumes of phoniness.

'Live' they said, but the old tongue had spoken enough silent tales.

But today was not the same, it was different. The aged mortal body chose to live for itself. Marching ahead on its weak and skinny legs, the body raced to the counter to buy itself a large cup of coffee. Setting the old eyes to work and scanning for the perfect spot to enjoy the coffee, there appeared wrinkles on the forehead and on the sides of those squeezed eyes.

Finally, the old eyes found the perfect spot, in the smokers' longue, and fearlessly walked towards the red chair. The wrinkled lips held a borrowed cigarette, the wrinkled hands showed its magic, and soon there were circular puffs of smoke in the air.

Along with this, there was the happy accident of large coffee. Breaking ties with the fake self, the true self now enjoyed every bit of the action and soon the large cup was almost finished, just then the aged tongue stuck out to catch the last drop of the sweet coffee, and the inner child was realized and released.