Fruity smell, highly fumed,
Flames on, smell adorns,
Chopping sound, spices abound,
A place which seems to me like hell
that I sometimes feel to yell.
Awaken from sleep, room filled with a sweet essence,
causing a tickle in my nose,
I could feel her presence,
Someone so dear, generous and loving,
Trying her hands out
Where else but her own kitchen.
She cooked my favourite dish,
My watering mouth, demanding for more,
her wonderful dishes are a perfect cure that
I wish the plate never ends.
What makes her food so delectable and
surprising me with every bit filled in my mouth,
I don't know!
Perhaps not just the flavours, but her love for us,
her pure heart and soul, all blended in one,
makes for the taste.
She being clad in a white apron,
desperately tries to merge all colours,
making her food look more wholesome and refined,
I sometimes title her a 'mom chef',
Her role being so divine.
Your dishes I would cherish throughout,
All that earns you a name,
My dear mother.
I wish that my strong aversion towards kitchen
turns into an inclination,
With you as my inspiration.
My mother.
It is the love for your food that drives me even closer;
But with you as my hearty companion,
why would my dreams vault for a closure,
with your hands always shaping my thoughts as boulders!
- Shivani Priyam
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