The window through which I observe the flowing seasons.

A small kitchen endowed with prayer,

With love, youth, and dreams −

Today a space

Crammed between four walls,

With an air so oppressive that

Not even the steaming coffee manages to breathe;

cigarette smoke hurries to sink into the walls

so as not to remain alone in silence.

a kitchen from a symbolic home,

now less or just that:

a simple kitchen.

although hope sprouts,

the changing nature of things frightens me:

to become embracing a loss,

to create or to give birth in the awareness of mortality,

of the end...

do we advance from a deep meaning woven into our arteries,

or from a natural current, an inertia of Life

that moves from within itself

towards another point of its own Meaning?

yet, what is true

apart from the One who represents the sole dimension

who in Truth transcends every plane?

we naive ones, believing we embrace with love

when only Love embraces us

with its all-encompassing arms.

Gala Jura

Photography by Golboo Maghooli /pexels.com