Morning Coffee Poem by Mohammad Yousef

In the hushed embrace of dawn,
before the sun spills gold across the sky,
the world holds its breath,
wrapped in a gentle silence,
where dreams drift like mist,
and the promise of a new day
hums softly in the air.

I rise,
the chill of night still clinging,
a blanket of coolness
that wraps around my shoulders,
and there, in the corner of my kitchen,
the old coffee maker stands sentinel,
a faithful companion,
its presence as familiar as my own heartbeat.

I measure the grounds,
dark as the mysteries of the night,
each granule a story waiting to unfold,
the aroma whispers secrets,
inviting me closer,
pulling me into the ritual,
the sacred dance of water and heat,
where life awakens in fragrant swirls.

The first splash of liquid,
a cascade of warmth,
melting the remnants of sleep,
as steam curls upward,
a ghostly figure reaching for the sky,
and I close my eyes, inhaling deeply,
the scent wrapping around me,
a lover's embrace,
intoxicating,
stirring the senses,
igniting the spark within.

I pour it into my favorite mug,
the one chipped and weathered,
a testament to countless mornings,
to laughter and solitude,
to moments shared and savored,
the universe contained in its roundness,
the warmth radiating through my fingers.

The first sip,
the liquid gold,
sliding down my throat,
a cascade of comfort,
filling the empty spaces,
the bitterness tempered by a touch of sweetness,
the way life itself unfolds,
a balance of flavors,
each note resonating with the promise of possibilities.

Outside, the world stirs,
birds take flight,
their songs weaving through the air,
and I sit,
nestled in this cocoon of warmth,
watching as shadows retreat,
colors unfurling like petals,
the canvas of the day brightening,
each ray of light a brushstroke of hope.

In this quiet moment,
I am reminded of the beauty
in the simplest of pleasures,
the way morning coffee
is more than just a drink,
it's a ritual,
a meditation,
a pause in the chaos,
a celebration of life
before the rush begins,
a sacred space where dreams
can take root,
and the heart can find its rhythm.

So here I sit,
with my mug cradled
like a promise,
ready to face the world,
the steam rising,
my spirit lifted,
one sip at a time,
as the dawn unfolds,
and the day stretches its arms,
welcoming me to be a part of it all.