Coffee from the ibrik

Let me make you a cup of coffee,

recipe simple as a knot,

but be aware it’s a family tradition,

we make it differently back home.

Choose a tiny, pretty mug from the collection,

my grandmother fabricated the one you’re holding,

smooth and yellow like the sun,

my uncles bought the clay for the other ones.

Harvest the beans,

construct the crime scene,

take the ashes and brew with velocity, soul and meticulosity,

gently, over the heat.

Stir with passion,

in between share stories with zeal,

I’ll eat them up like a five-course meal.

Beware of the moment it bursts,

it will come by surprise,

expect the anger to burn,

bubbles elevate high.

Eventually we’ll endure,

all the flair on top,

waves sepia, deep brown and gold,

and the aromas being set free,

are enough to tranquilize me.

Share a few more tales,

your cup is still full,

we can wait for it to cool,

just muster with your mind a new tune.

Don’t focus on the dark circles beneath my eyes,

they’re from the coffee powder.

I may seem tired,

but my heart pounds like I’ll start a riot.