Brahma Tea Museum (Draught Free)

Tea chests hoard myths and Edward unpacked them,
Shuko mingled into the draught
refined simplicity for all of the people.
Every small act forms a part of Chado
the ritual of spoons, warming hands on bowls
seeking beauty in imperfect objects of everyday streets.
Copper jars and bone ceramics find asylum in the stories
as the masters brew spices in the crouched hut
a museum exhibit in Southwark’s tea room
(Shuko remains the sage and steeps the pot a while longer)
swirling leaves as fleeting as definitions
“beyond games and art, like Zen” he concludes.

The tea-leaves linger on in unread vessels.
Shuko’s ghost whispers as we bow to leave;
“one taste of tea refreshes and purifies and gives
enlightenment to the universal law.”

Cargoes float inwards, seep into the city
immigrant caddies of hope and respect,
a delicate bergamot flowering, the hint of regret
bank-side children scoop out the flotsam
“Tea is not a game and not an art” they remember,
draining the golden fluid from their bowls.

Lay out the wooden tools on the table at low-tea.
Adapting to London geometry, guests gather
as though waiting for first rains
in the arbor of the quiet garden.