AROMA

The food in my plate tastes bland

I try to awaken my senses,
savour each and every bite.
It still tastes bland.
Have my senses failed or is my food simply bad?

I try to recollect the ingredients and garnishes
to the lively platter staring upon me
anticipating to be devoured,
in all guts and glory.

The subtle aroma of extra virgin oil,
the hiss and splutter of condiments amalgamating,
the formation of layers and textures
what a wonder to witness.
Alas! The food has failed me.

Years ago, I remember asking my mother
"ma, how do I make my food as good as yours"
She replied with a smile,
"put your heart and soul into anything you do,
 and the result is always enriching"

I look at the plate in front of me.
There is no doubt, this platter has my heart and soul,
with a  blend of soothing tunes in the backdrop.
My mother was perhaps wrong,
the food still tastes bland and blasé.

My attention shifts to the plate holding the food
lately; I have indulged into the wonders of ceramics

The creation of earthenware’s fascinate me

So vulnerably beautiful, emblazoning like fireworks,
ready to shard into million pieces.

The Japanese did well
they gave us ‘kintsugi’
healing broken objects.
Romanticizing our own scars.

I shift my focus on the plate,
trying to visualize the story

Of these billowing paisley,

dancing on the edges.

The spoons handle~ a filigree of intricate details,
resembling a dancing peacock.
I put a spoonful into my mouth,
it does not make me feel any better

Years ago,
I remember sitting on my stuffy little room
coming back after a tiresome day,
fixing myself a quick dinner,
ready to collapse into bed
I remember how heavenly the food tasted
could I possibly recreate the same food now?

Distortion

The beautiful man came along

 In a horse carriage

An embodiment of beauty and mystified whiff

ready to whisk me in a jiff

A careless whisper

On my lips

I rode along behind your hips

You wanted to show me guts and glory

I kept my keen on reading the lines of your body

You held my hands 

directed my gaze to the brightest star.

I looked down upon your eyes 

trying to search for dimmer lights.

Imagined communities.

home , a place where my mother birthed me

nursed me , gave me things i desired.

slowly, my surroundings cocooned me 

making me more like itself ,quite naturally!

adolescent seeped and withered by

home still remained home, 

repetition is what we are all meant for

except a chosen few

 

an intriguing horse caught hold of my eye

it showed me promises of miles and miles

i rode the tempestuous pony

boy, it felt liberating

i more i rode that pony , the more i felt like home

the farther it went, the more i felt like home

the more unknown people i met , the more they radiated  love

that time of roaring twenties,

fighting with the identity crisis that immeasurably captivated me

i slowly began to realize,  

we were never ever made to be confined to one place

we were the unstoppable stardust of the galaxy

scattered around like flickers of ashes

landing anywhere the direction of the wind took us

we were a part of this vast expanse of  universe,

wherever we choose to home ourselves

home was a feeling, a part of life

a fleeting time where i spent copious amount of time 

a place where i was flickered and landed.

the farther i went away from home, i more i felt like home.