I ponder why I feel uncertain about the air, the flowing water,
The countless hours spent amidst the falling raindrops,
Gradually passing through the arms of time.
I question why spontaneous laughter brings to mind the face of a war-torn child.
Is it a reflection of my senses intertwined with the places I hold dear in my heart?
Am I that child?
I doubt my sanity.
I feel distanced from the carefree green days,
Resting lightly, wrapped in the warmth of wisdom.
Why am I captivated by the depth of nature?
Am I eager to reveal hidden truths of life, breathing in the cries of a newborn?
In the night chirping of the mockingbird,
Or in the distinctive calls of an owl from the old backyard oak?
I reflect on my luck, transparent and open.
I can see the luck, a delicate hint of the light swirling in my thoughts.
Yet, the grey earth, littered with scattered dry wells at the centre of an ancient city,
The feathers are tinted red—I perceive it all without clouds.
I sense everything: unrefined, visceral, gentle, long ago, miserably weathered.
Why, I wonder, why do I feel uncertain about those things?!
Shahla Latifi
May 2025