Where the Wind Whisks Me Away…

The brittle leaves upon a bitter gale
Scrape the tattered roads in autumn sun pale.
I raise my cup; the Black Dragon’s broth swells
Coral and catharsis cascades my tongue.
Sacred ceramic warms while florals tell
Of Darjeeling, its misty slopes far flung.
I wander across the orient to lush
Leaf-green fields and hibiscuses’ sweet blush.
 Temple towers lord over boyish wonder 
as it trods ancient iron-red soil of old.
Elixir wakens moments from slumber.
Piquant tastes entice them out the threshold.
Grandsire’s words mingle with the lost Koel’s praise:
“I am happy you remember the old days.”