chai rain

The days dwindle and yellow.
Days fall to the ground and are buried under snow
they go floating away in streams of rain
down on the sides of streets.

I watched them, floating away
on streams of chai-coloured rain
they float like cardamom in tea
and dried mint leaves,
the flavours, intoxicating,
laugh in a hot cup
and my days race me on this stream of chai
and milk. I am losing. I am losing.
But I am also drinking hot tea
and the steam rises and swells
and gets into my eyes, as they follow
the chai stream, down the road that is
sloped downwards.

I am losing, losing the race
but I stopped for some tea with milk and honey,
and I asked the days to stop and float on
streams of chai.