Turkish Coffee Poem by Mohammad Yousef

In the soft glow of dawn,
the kitchen awakens,
where shadows stretch,
and the day unfurls its petals,
I find her, poised,
the heart of our home,
her hands, a tapestry of stories,
woven with the threads of time.

She cradles the cezve,
a small copper pot,
ancient as the whispers of the Bosphorus,
as she scoops the dark, ground beans,
each granule a promise,
each measure a memory,
the aroma dances in the air,
like laughter spilling over
the rim of a cup.

Water cascades,
a gentle river flowing,
the heat rises,
and so does the spirit of the morning,
her eyes, deep as the Black Sea,
glimmer with the secrets of the brew,
while the flame flickers,
like a heartbeat,
steady and sure.

As she stirs,
the coffee swirls,
a dark galaxy in that small vessel,
it simmers, whispers,
the magic of patience,
as the froth gathers,
a crown upon its surface,
an offering to the soul,
the ritual of awakening.

She pours with grace,
the liquid gold spills,
like stories shared over time,
each cup a vessel,
carrying warmth,
a bridge between moments,
the taste of her laughter,
the bitterness of her sorrows,
the sweetness of her dreams.

Turkish coffee from her hands,
a potion brewed with love,
for every sip is a journey,
to bustling bazaars and sunlit streets,
to family gatherings,
where the clink of porcelain sings,
and the world pauses,
to savor the richness of connection.

In the silence that follows,
the steam rises, curling,
a soft embrace around our hearts,
the coffee grounds settle,
like the echoes of yesterday,
and in that stillness,
I find solace,
the warmth of her spirit,
in every drop,
a reminder that life, like coffee, is meant to be savored,
slowly,
with intention,
from her hands,
to my heart.