Your Warm Saffron Milk

The dry, shriveled saffron threads
of your old pains and troubles
need the warm patience
of the milk of your compassion
to release their gold.

Cold milk won’t do.
Your precious threads will stubbornly stare back—
aroma locked, wisdom withheld.

But scorching milk
will torch them too—
obliterating the delicate, grounding fragrance
they were meant to give.

So first, let yourself boil
on the flames of your reckoning.
Then cool—
just enough that you’re not hissing out
righteous rage,
scalding all you touch.

Only then
can you steep
your healing saffron elixir—
a drink that pleases the senses
and softens the being
you carry.

Honey and turmeric optional.
Weary friend,
you must get your temperature right first.

By: Shreya Datta

Shreya Datta is an Indian-American poet based in Philadelphia. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Bluebird Word, WestWard Quarterly, Lighten Up Online, Rue Scribe, Poets Choice, Wingless Dreamer Press, and Moonstone Press. Her poetry blends emotional clarity, cultural memory, and intimate reflection.