Six tea cups

In the hushed, dusky pink gloaming
on a stout, vintage table
six dainty teacups sat waiting prettily
to be kissed and sipped from!

But no clattering footsteps ascended the stairs
no laughter, no banter, no swinging doors
the house was deserted
and so was the pergola bereft in the garden.

Waiting endlessly into the inky night
they strained to hear voices,
any voices
but silence was the sole occupant
within the lustreless, withered walls.

An old faded letter lay on the console
written in beautiful cursive, now faint and pale
a sudden breeze caressed those words
fluttering the letter, thus bringing them alive!

The teacups rattled and the curtains danced
and like magic a frisson ran over the home
and it forgot its loneliness, momentarily.

What do you see # 40 – 27 July 2020

Eugi’s Weekly Prompt “Magic” July 27, 2020

VJ’s Weekly Challenge #106: touch

Tuesday Writing Prompt Challenge: Tuesday, January 14, 2020

81 thoughts on “Six tea cups

  1. Marvelous…I have insufficient words, really…your writing is always alive and breathing, heart beating with no less than passionate pulse. Bravo!

    Liked by 3 people

  2. The cups tealeaves do solemnly lay waiting for that lonesome breeze to return… I’m enchanted by your graceful poem Punam….. here’s a song for you..xx

    Liked by 2 people

  3. The story of my childhood house…..

    The ruins now tell the story what grandeur it used to hold within. A nest of three generations thriving on love care and respect.
    We had seven cows and many calves whom we used to think as our brothers and sisters, owing to the telltale our grandmother used to recite while pretending to sleep, about cow being sacred mother.

    A kitchen garden so big with all the flora blooming to its glory…..

    Boom…..callous days…terrorists, guns, slogans bullets, blood, stench of gunpowder in air, and within a few months the heaven was transformed into a living hell…but I will tell the rest of the tale another time.

    Things do change from good to bad and then possibly good again, what is left are the blotches of past on the walls…of houses and of hearts….

    Awaiting the rains which could wash the walls of the house as the walls of my heart are still black despite the redness of my blood.

    Liked by 3 people

  4. Oh wow Punam a brilliant short tale in poetry…i love how you build up the tension here..i initially thought it was goin to be a horror tale but i was wrong..turned out to be a wonderful magic..

    Liked by 1 person

  5. This reminds me of a time when I was a young girl… a few of us went into an abandoned home in the country. Back then no one locked doors. It seemed the occupants left in a rush… unfinished meal on the table. Food left in a frig, now without electricity. Probably some kind of vacation home? We looked at some old magazines and figure it was best to leave.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. The sense of physical presence that makes it all work, so by contrast or negative space, the value of warmth and being together is accentuated so strongly in this.

    Liked by 1 person

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