Through Her Glass Poem by Hanan Muzafar

Through autumn fields,
cold wind touching her hair,
Her thoughts wandering wild,
A rainbow she holds,
through a glass, with wings.

A burning stew she made,
beside a rose,
with a bright smile on her face—
On a ceramic plate,
painted silver-grey,
on a checkered tablecloth,
along with oak.

A little thief,
stealing someone's grief,
To make a dream:
where she gets lost,
for a relief, seeking refuge—
There ain't anyone,
who can touch her soul;
A road to her home.