I Wonder

I Wonder

by Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

I wonder why the sky wears blue.

Maybe it’s the heavens’ favorite robe,

stitched from the breath of the Almighty

and draped over our little world as a quiet promise

even when storms are loud,

peace still hangs above us like a backdrop.

I wonder what song the wind carries.

Some days it feels like a lullaby for scared children,

soft enough to hush the ache in a chest.

Other days, it’s a victory chant

from warriors who’ve set down their swords

and now dance between clouds.

I wonder what colors Mother Nature keeps in her box.

Maybe she mixes the first sunrise’s happy tears

with the gold of early light,

the green of spring’s first breath,

and the violet hush of twilight

just to remind us beauty wears many faces.

I wonder if the sun, with all its heat,

ever feels cold inside.

If maybe it burns so bright

because it knows the sting of distance

yet it keeps giving,

making rivers glitter and flowers open,

like it refuses to let loneliness win.

I wonder how many oceans, rivers, and streams

my eyes have poured out.

If each tear is a pearl

God quietly tucks into His palm,

or if they seep into the ground,

feeding seeds I don’t even know I planted.

I wonder if the smell of the water at dawn

remembers me

a small boy with skinny arms,

standing beside my grandparents,

casting a line into the quiet

as crabs tapped the sides of our baskets.

The world was big then,

but my joy fit in the palm of my grandmother’s hand.

I wonder if the roar of an NFL stadium

still holds the sound of her laughter,

her voice teaching me

that sometimes even life’s noise can be a song

if you’re with the right person.

I wonder what real, no-strings-attached affection feels like.

Is it the voice that calls me out from hiding?

The arms that hold me

when I’m too heavy for myself?

The kind of care that doesn’t keep score,

just waits

patient as sunrise

outside the gates of my heart.

I wonder if the moon keeps my secrets.

How many nights it’s overheard my prayers.

How often its silver light

has been the only witness

to my breaking… and my stitching back together.

I wonder if trees remember the wind

if every bend and sway is a love letter to the unseen.

Rooted, yet willing to bow.

I wonder if my mother’s voice still echoes

in the rooms I’ve outgrown

her wisdom about real estate and life,

her prayers building foundations

stronger than brick or steel.

She didn’t need a crowd.

She was the crowd.

And in her shadow, I learned to stand alone.

I wonder if my ancestors feel the beat of my footsteps.

Do they grin when I take the narrow road?

Do they clear their throats

when I edge too close to the cliff

of my own pride?

I wonder if silence has its own voice

a language only the spirit can translate.

The way God sometimes speaks

not in earthquakes,

but in the space between my heartbeats.

I wonder if my faith is as wide as I think it is,

or if some days it’s just a cup I’m holding out

to a river that never stops overflowing.

I wonder how many prayers I’ve forgotten

that God has already checked off.

How many “no’s”

were really “not yet’s.”

How many detours

were shortcuts in disguise.

I wonder if the stars are tiny rips in heaven’s floor,

letting the light spill through,

reminding us even the blackest night

isn’t all shadow.

And I wonder

how long will folks walk past me

like I’m a ghost,

like my pen’s just ink and nothing more?

As if my words can’t plant seeds

in someone’s hungry soil.

Still, I write.

Because for me, ink is a prayer

and every page is an offering.

And I keep wondering…

not from doubt,

but because wonder

is the hallway that leads me to His presence.

God’s mysteries are too rich to stop chasing,

too big to be boxed in,

and far too tender

to leave me without questions.

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These words are not just questions — they are the echoes of a soul reaching for the mysteries of life, love, and existence. Every “I wonder” is a bridge between the seen and the unseen, between the human heart and the infinite. May these reflections remind you that curiosity is not weakness, but the first step toward deeper wisdom. And perhaps, in our wondering, we might just hear the Creator whisper back.

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