2 cups of burnt memories,
Each grain holds sorrow more than glory.
A pinch of loneliness,
In which more is never less.
A spoonful of tears of sorrow,
Unfulfilled promises that weigh tomorrow.
Knead the broken heart into a dough,
Sing about life, how it always gets low.
Patience of yeast, let it sit.
So much space, yet soft dough forced to fit.
Shove it inside the oven of unbearable pain,
Hardness and numbness burn in every flame.
After a break of untimely rain,
Open the soul which lost its name.
Sprinkle a spoon of broken dreams,
Season with hopeless, clouded cream.
How to face the result if it comes as
waste?
Now, dear reader, it's time for you to taste.
If it tastes bad, kindly don't blame
Every baker, unfortunately, is never the same.
Pardon that the golden color is always late.
What to do? This world never left
more ingredients in my cabinet.