uploading for jingle poetry potluck - if I take 'food' in its immediate literal sense then I am reminded of my never ending endeavors in my kitchen.
The splitter splutter of cumin, mustard,
spilled butter with fenugreek and fennel,
an amazing vista of red hot chicken, clustered;
like the promise of a new poem brewing
like the rhythmic swirl and sway of dancing!
Broccoli and cabbage hopping with corn flour,
creamy onion paste crooning in the middle,
a milky white curd mix, the right one to devour;
charming smells of ginger and olive oil
creating a mellow hue, just a bit if you toil.
The slicing, chopping; the clicking and clanking,
turmeric, chilly whispering promise in a ladle,
a bubbly batter steaming and simmering;
the gentle stir and the spongy whip
soft seasoning with salty dash and a floury dip.
A whole new world of spiraling, coiling dreams and desire,
spreading an aroma making me the queen of my magical empire.