POETRY

She Craved Wild Things

A poem

Ask her what she craved,
and she’d whisper it like a secret too sacred for the world—
not diamonds, not fame,
but the scent of saffron rising from a cast-iron pot,
a recipe learned from her grandmother’s fading hands.
She longed for dragons,
not the kind slain by knights,
but ones who shared stories in firelight,
who remembered the names of stars.
She wanted tales inked in stardust,
maps to kingdoms that never made it to history books—
where the wind spoke in riddles
and love was carved in ancient runes.
She would get lost in the turning of pages,
her heart beating to the rhythm of a thousand adventures,
her soul stitched together
by the promise of a love that only comes once
the kind that burns cities and builds new ones in its wake.
Ask her what she wanted—
and she’d tell you:
books, the wild, music made of thunder,
the scent of cinnamon and fire.
A home with open windows.
A kitchen full of laughter.
A heart never caged.
And always—
freedom and love.