Poem: Acceptable

I see you standing at the door,
fidgeting with your fingers,
thinking if you should knock,
if you will be a bother to them.

And so I open the door,
pull you in with a steady hand,
and show you that empty seat,
seeking you in your absence.

You look for discomfort in their eyes,
and yet you don't find any.
Something must be wrong.
Is this a prank; you think.

And I see the years of hurt
peeping through your scepticism.
But I know it kept you safe
in a world you never felt a part of.

But listen, if you live in a burning house,
it seems the whole world is on fire.
And guess what; it's not.
Oh I wish you would believe me.

But I know it takes more than that,
so instead I make a pot of tea.
Give a steaming cup in your hand,
and sit with you for a while.

And I know my tea is never perfect,
I put a lot of milk, and very little sugar,
and sometimes forget the cardamom.
I mean is that even acceptab- "It's good!"

I snap out of my thoughts,
as you tell me how good the tea is.
And I really do believe you,
regardless of what my eyes might say.

It's just... It takes a while,
to leave the burning building.
Especially on the days
when you are miles away from it.

- Sushant Kumar Das