Of Glass and Water...

By Muhimtulay Ammara Mohammed Amin

A new day awakens, a solitary flower unfurls. I reach to behold it, yet thorns pierce with quiet malice, and sanguine rivulets descend my fingers, as though my heart itself refused the tender embrace.

Am I wrought of fragile glass, and this heart of limpid water? I muror the world's luminance, yet within, torrents surge unbidden, submerging me in stillness.

Glass is delicate-yet ut lacerates. Water is gentle-yet it rends stone. How peculiar, to be both.

I lean upon the looking-glass-it does not reflect me.

Only fissures, a shadow behind the silver, a heart murmuring: “Dream, even if you fracture.”

If I am glass, let me be a window to ambition.

If I am water, let me carve canyons through mountains, and nourish those who believed they were mere shards.

And if, one day, I transmute to Water, and this heart assumes the form of a crystalline rose— let it stand as my mirror, cold, eternal, while I remain its silent dreamer.

By Muhimtulay Ammara Mohammed Amin