Whenever I see you in the ***
My home comes to my mind
My mother’s haste of preparing breakfast
My father’s stress of being late for meeting
My brother’s crying for food
And I am waiting for you to be cooked
With strainer in my hand
I remember I threw your thin slices into a boiling oil
Which is my mother’s skillful hands sliced
Then I added a pinch of salt because
You know, I and my brother don’t like you without it

How would I know
We were related to our pain
Both of us are feeling the knife in our neck
Both of us are flaming in the fire
The only difference is
You suffer in the ***
I suffer in my heart

Now, I changed
I don’t care if you are
Sweet or insipid
Crispy or soft
Salty or saltness
I just want to eat you from my mother
And with my family, in my home