I want a poem
with the texture of a colander
on the pastry.
of pastry so rich
it leaves gleam on your fingertips.
that stings like the splash of boiling oil
as you drop the pastry in.
that sits on a silver plate with
nuts and chocolates, served up to guests who
sit cross legged on the thoshak.
as vibrant as our saffron tea
served up at Eid.
Let your poetry
texture the blank paper
like a prism splitting light.
Don’t leave without seeing all the colours.