Writer
This night wasn’t silent.
The cobblestones breathed
a cool air of relief
from the afternoon heat.
The air knocked on
old forgotten doors of balconies
a street light dims
blinking awake
to stay lit
for the ones still out
finding their way home
down the cobblestoned streets.
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.
A challenge to face
A step to climb
It is strenuous and wild
But when you do it with love
It’ll all be fine.
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.
I have always loved bridges, the way they appear
More than steel and structure.. like a promise stretched across a distance.
They do not ask why there is a divide,
They simply become the answer.
There’s something deeply hopeful about bridges
People coming together to build something that brings others closer.
It is a path for the lost,
a gentle insistence to keep going
A reminder, there’s always a way forward.
To me, they’ve always felt like symbols of courage, resilience, and possibility.
A connection linking two unknowns, two stranger lands.
And then there’s the Golden Gate Bridge, a work of art!
The scarlet red, or should I say fiery orange-red or accidental “International Orange” colored bridge,
gracefully suspended in the air which looks simply striking
against the endless blue sky and blue bay on a bright sunny day.
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.
You don’t want a friend.
You’re in search of a stage,
To read every line of your favorite page.
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.
A tainted soul
Painted in a white frame.
A faded smile
Pale illusion of broken dreams.
Foist upon the bones,
A hornet’s nest
Stirred awake.
Nuraine Sadaf 