The sound of sizzle on the stove, where I found my voice.
Raspy in the mornings when the wake up call is the toast for the other night;
Mellow at lunch where alcohol sometimes meets the meat;
High pitched when meetings are with the fire, as pan heats and dazzles with grease.
Oil always brings me home to my grandma’s place.
Where the nonchalant ways of remedy is taught at a single cabinet; and that space is clustered with languages I never spoke, but learnt on the way.
I occasionally speak with my voice down,
Where every single item on the menu, seems fancy.
And I sometimes sit at narrow tables, where people have no faces at all to meet.
They have orifices with teeth to cut, but are tongue tied with twisters of spoonful tastes.
No toast is made, at your service
And meals are for you, your highness,
Courtesy is for the tables that are round,
And an applause is for
The
Chef;
With no taste.
Rasp, sizzle and click.
Rasp, sizzle and click.
The howl is from the belly;
Where it aches with no after-taste.
Again,
Rasp, sizzle and click;
Sipping on famine.
Rasp, sizzle and click.
Chef is tone-deaf, I mean.
Mar 31
Mar 31, 2026 at 12:54 PM UTC
The sound of sizzle on the stove, where I found my voice.
Raspy in the mornings when the wake up call is the toast for the other night;
Mellow at lunch where alcohol sometimes meets the meat;
High pitched when meetings are with the fire, as pan heats and dazzles with grease.
Oil always brings me home to my grandma’s place.
Where the nonchalant ways of remedy is taught at a single cabinet; and that space is clustered with languages I never spoke, but learnt on the way.
I occasionally speak with my voice down,
Where every single item on the menu, seems fancy.
And I sometimes sit at narrow tables, where people have no faces at all to meet.
They have orifices with teeth to cut, but are tongue tied with twisters of spoonful tastes.
No toast is made, at your service
And meals are for you, your highness,
Courtesy is for the tables that are round,
And an applause is for
The
Chef;
With no taste.
Rasp, sizzle and click.
Rasp, sizzle and click.
The howl is from the belly;
Where it aches with no after-taste.
Again,
Rasp, sizzle and click;
Sipping on famine.
Rasp, sizzle and click.
Chef is tone-deaf, I mean.
