A tea set
Of many cups
With its noise and clouds of steam
The clinking of spoons against rims after dissolving the sugar
Differs
From a silent, single
Cup
Wearily waiting on the edge of an antique writing desk
For a sad lady
To arrive in a moment.
Clouds of steam
(they differ when they rise from many cups or from a single one)
Carry the flavour of delicious Indian leaves
Collected,
Dried,
Packed and shipped by many hands
To by drunk
By others.
The hiss of steam
Becomes louder
Than the noise of noses
Sitting round a sizable set
On an oval table
In the middle of the room.
Whereas, from a single cup
A thin thread of steam climbs
In silence,
Weakly,
Wearily seeking the nose of a lady
Nobody visits.

Translated by Kees Nijland