Summer Symphony : Tea

I hear the clinking

of steaming tea glasses on a

tea - wagon, being carried

up the stairs and to

the scorching sun , rooftop

at dusk.

Sulaimani Tea — the color of

an equatorial sunset ; a bonfire’s

embers not yet extinguished.

The balmy Arabian nights envelope

my quavering figure - washing me ;

cleansing me ; in the essence of

Plum blossoms and White roses.

Turquoise fountains and starry skies ,

Songs of Indian - Summer - Eve , which

sings with the call-to-prayer at sun-down , while

lines of poetry slip between my

lips and into the breeze.

 It catches the currents and floats my way. I reach

 for a glass of Sulaimani tea:

 Poinsettia Red and Rugged Brown, mixed

 to form the weakness of my heart .

 Glasses glowing with latent Holocaust - light

 emanating from within.

Holding it up to the indigo sky,

waves of fiery murk melt into the air.

Ephemeral twists of smoky splashes ,

fleeting pictures into the dark.

I hold the glass beneath my nose and

gasp for a breath of my homeland’s smell

of rose water and grapefruit.

I inch the flickering tea closer to my mouth ,

tipping it as if to drink ,

but the beauty is too intense.

Lowering the glass, I place it on the

ground , watching

it into the evening until ,

no more twists of fuggy fumes rise ,

to the heavens to wish me ,

goodnight.