The last teabag

All these reminders of the
Ends of things…
The last tea bag lying flat
On the bottom of its glass jar
Lonely and waiting
Finally chosen
Evoking more than a brew
A meditation no less:

Seized with enough grip
Not to tear, transferred
From one world to another,
And deluged with scalding water
Suffering it seems
Before the glory,
That inner golden glow,
Infuses, floods, and fills

Polyphenol pleasure…
Liberated molecules diffusing,
Their leaf-bound cages breached,
Swimming free with a purpose?
Maybe not understood,
But, flexing with the passions
Of sudden heat and colour

Find their way to rest
On a human tongue or,
Ascending an olfactory maze,
Millions of years in the making,
For a few minutes
Bearing their unique calling
Their mission fruit:
Stillness, sighing, smiling

Like the final teabag
Unchosen, unknowing of
Any purpose; this life
Boiling us one moment
Neglecting us another
Not here to be ghettoed
But as a diaspora, to be tasted,
To still the One who made us