I watch cooking for joy
I love it
When vapours rise
The scintillating smell
Fills and arouses my nostrils
And my mundane mind
I like being blown away by this juggernaut of joy,aroma
Sensual satisfaction
I enjoy
The spurt of cumin
In rich oil
I love the
Dance of
Mustard crackling
How asafoetida
Sets the stage on fire
How curry leaves sound
Being sauteed
Only to come out
In an enchanting form
The fairies take centrestage
In this cooking dream
In vegetables
As they simmer
And get coated
With raisers of
Your taste buds
And assume
Magnified beauty
The *** turns into
A flurry of colours
You seem to get lost
As you gaze in wonder
Then the splash
Of tangy lemon
Juiced to Glory
Comes only
To leave you amazed
Fresh coriander
Basking in glory
Of it's green leaves
Makes it's debut
To leave you amazed
Your senses overflow
And in case you're
Not done
With this
Mesmerizing magnificence
The Majesty of food
Has more to offer
Your mouth starts watering
And you slurp it down
Enjoying every moment
Attaining some containment
In the form of good food!!

I hope you can deal with my grumpiness in the morning
My snoring through the night
Sometimes I even talk in my sleep
I'll want you to cook all the time and cuddle me too
I hope you're warm and smell good
Please be able to take a joke
I love to laugh
Love me with all you have
Kiss me like it's the last time you ever will
Look past my eyes and into my soul
See me for my heart and not the body it's attached to
Love me for me and I'll do the same for you
My future husband, I love you.

writing like

- a grocery list of metaphors

- for a cooking recipe instruction

- or some kind of

- shipping manifesto;

- let your deductive mind

- interpret its own flow

- since that's the one thing

- we don't naturally grow

- but if you put too much spice in that dish

- bear in mind

(x) it’s best served cold

From time to time
I feel blue
and cook my own stew.
Its bland and
taste good enough
for my stomach.

I knew from the start
that my cooking
isn't really that great
nor it's appetising.
Atleast
my milk is
sweet.
I'm not fond of sodas
dislike the fact that
it boils my
stomach.

Food, for now
they're within
reach, though
must someday
will come -
starvation is
inevitable

She could scallop her fruit inside
her delicate ring tonight
though her pantry gleamingly sound  
that a surge sped with her gait
but thwarted round her waist
that a basket full of poetry read
as crystalline in her heart
even rose her bed
with flowers festooned till midnight
as elegamce flatly trimmed parlance.