Tag: art

A Prayer for Plates

~ Nuraine Sadaf ~ 2 Comments

We are living in strange times.

Last week, I was in New York City with a friend. We stood in line outside a ‘popular’ bakery for a hot cinnamon bun. It was raining, we somehow managed to get inside without getting soaked, placed our order, and looked around for a place to sit.

There was none.

I found a tiny corner near a pillar with a tiny spot to hold a plate. When our order arrived, the warm cinnamon bun was served on a paper plate, my drink came in a plastic cup, and we had to use plastic cutlery to eat focaccia bread. Imagine cutting a focaccia bread with a plastic knife, that knife was showing off its moves.. bending and dancing and cutting the bread wherever it pleased rather than where we wanted it to. All this..while also struggling to hold our bags, making sure the plate doesn’t tip and fall. Somehow we managed to finish our food and left the bakery.

To be honest, we were relieved to step outside and breathe in some fresh air.

I have no clue how the food tasted.

In the name of convenience and in the concept of saving time we seem to be losing the pleasure of eating. What happened to real plates, spoons, and knives? Why are we served food in takeaway containers, even after saying we’re here to dine-in?

Continue reading “A Prayer for Plates” →

What August Forgot

~ Nuraine Sadaf ~ Leave a comment

What August forgot
the air carries in its chill
14 shades less dire
a choice to believe
that which is least understood.
where and how abouts
were lost to the sound
of that call
..a shrill melancholy
the breeze graced
the surface
of the night stream
the rock beneath waited
for an anonymous soul
to reach, again
towards the depths
of that which
remains forgotten.

Elaichi

Green cardamom pods with some opened showing black seeds scattered on a wooden surface
~ Nuraine Sadaf ~ Leave a comment

The scent of crushed cardamoms and saffron
rises from a simmering pot of chai,
drifting through the house
from the kitchen,
up the stairs,
into the room where I still sleep.

I breathe deeply,
the khushboo of elaichi tea
a sharp cool green
opened by heat
sweetening the air,
A smile inside my dreams.

This is how the day begins
with the feeling of home,
somewhere in Spain.

Embracing Age

~ Nuraine Sadaf ~ Leave a comment

Holding onto the old
In a new world…
Like a worn leather jacket
Over a satin shirt,
Like a vase of fresh flowers
On a weathered wooden table,
Like a wrinkled hand
Holding an iPhone,
Like a mud pot brewing
Hot noodle soup.
It is not about living in the past.
It is about embracing age,
Imperfection worn with humility,
Finding beauty in austere simplicity.
It is Wabi-sabi.

A door you refused to open

~ Nuraine Sadaf ~ Leave a comment

I dream a dream on repeat
In it, is a door..

A tall, imposing old door
Ornate two-panels
A gold knob on the dark wood
Shaped like the face of a dragon
The more I looked
the more it grew
Intimidating, alive.
I refuse to open,
Who or what awaits on the other side?

I dream a dream..
Of a traditional carved door
Intricate motifs on its arched frame
A faint scent of white pine
Lingered in the air.
I reach out to touch,
but step back
It is not my door,
am I allowed to touch?

I dream a dream..
It is a dark mahogany door,
polished wood:
Glossy and fine
It stretched toward the sky.
I stand before it,
Tilting my head in awe.
But am I allowed
to stand here and stare?

I dream a dream..
Of a red door
with a big black lock
I lose myself
In its structured pattern.
To find such careful carving
Feels like an anomaly.
I stand again before it
I do not try to open it.

I dream a dream..
Of yet another door
Broken, laced with spider webs,
No door knob,
Moss creeping upward
Slowly eating the wood.
Afraid it might crumble at my touch,
I turn away.

I dream a dream..
Of multiple doors
each one closed
Afraid of choosing wrong,
Afraid of being lost,
I run,
I hide,
I cry.

I dream a dream..
Of a giant single black door
It towered over me
I walked towards it,
an ant in comparison
I remembered my Dada told me:
You’ll never know if you never try
I step forward,
But courage runs dry
and I turn behind.

I dream a dream..
Of a familiar door
A door from the past
Its surface remembers my touch
It was opened before
Something had escaped
Something I never named
I look away,
I cannot breathe
and wake with a start.

I dream a dream..
Of the same familiar door from the past
The handle awaits
I walk toward it,
Slowly,
My hand trembles
But this time,
I open it.

Blue sky
Green grass
A silent breeze
I breathe deep
And rise with a smile.

A Room with a Veil

~ Nuraine Sadaf ~ Leave a comment

A room with many windows
Each one dressed in a curtain
Every window the same
Yet no two veils alike.

One window is shut,
One is slightly open,
One stands completely ajar
One is guarded by a mesh.

The shut one wears
A thick blackout velvet curtain
With golden sealed borders.

A window open wide
Draped in a light pink sheer
Soft and airy
Swaying with the breeze.

One lets the light enter
Through a delicate lace
Gentle and patterned.

Another is adorned
With heavy intricate embroidery
Tied neatly with a bow

One hangs simply
With tassels and prints.
Another blooms in floral cotton
Playful and warm

Many windows
Many curtains
Satin
silk
velvet
cotton
linen.

Yet through none of them
Can you see the entire room
Only a veil of what lies within

For the room
was reserved
for only the one
living in it.

Characteristics of Life

~ Nuraine Sadaf ~ Leave a comment

A poem by Camille T. Dungy

Ask me if I speak for the snail and I will tell you
I speak for the snail.
speak of underneathedness
and the welcome of mosses,
of life that springs up,
little lives that pull back and wait for a moment.

I speak for the damselfly, water skeet, mollusk,
the caterpillar, the beetle, the spider, the ant.
I speak
from the time before spinelessness was frowned upon.

Ask me if I speak for the moon jelly. I will tell you
one thing today and another tomorrow
and I will be as consistent as anything alive
on this earth.

I move as the currents move, with the breezes.
What part of your nature drives you? You, in your cubicle
ought to understand me. I filter and filter and filter all day.

Ask me if I speak for the nautilus and I will be silent
as the nautilus shell on a shelf. I can be beautiful
and useless if that’s all you know to ask of me.

Ask me what I know of longing and I will speak of distances
between meadows of night-blooming flowers.
I will speak
the impossible hope of the firefly.

You with the candle
burning and only one chair at your table must understand
such wordless desire.

To say it is mindless is missing the point.

Filter, filter, and filter all day, anything or anyone that holds you back, just keep moving like a snail. Wordless desires that’s the way of life. Such a beautiful poem. 🙂

~ Nuraine Sadaf ~ Leave a comment

Passing through the day,
in a silk shirt, a pencil skirt,
hair gathered in a loose bun,
a few strands dancing with the wind.

The sky hangs grey,
autumn leaves rush by—
their colors whispering goodbye.