Therefore

Come closer: try Somali tea. We call it shaah.
It is close to chai,
but this one is made with stories and scars.
Black tea leaves,
collected like dreams from a field.
Cardamom seeds,
small gifts with deep meaning.
Cinnamon sticks,
strong like our spirit.
Cloves,
sharp like old memories.
Ginger,
hot with survival.
Nutmeg,
soft like hope returning.
When the water boils,
it speaks like gossip in the kitchen.
The steam rises and says:
sabr: patience.
The cup warms my hands and says:
alhamdulillah = > we are still here.
This is not just tea.
This is shaah.
This is sheeko.
This is guriga in a cup.
Home, poured slowly.
Pain, made sweet.
Memory, still breathing.