Selected Poems

Pav – Bhajee (Indian street food)

Ohhh... Weather is dull and raining. Not in a mood for doing anything, Fancy having an exotic food
 To boost up my energy. I open the fridge.
 Oh... My word! I have all the bits of,
 Vegetables left over in the fridge drawer.
 Mood for Pav – Bhaji,
 The king of the street food from the, 
Western state of Maharastra in India.
Pav is bread roll,
 Bhaji is mix vegetables.
It’s a Wedding of all vegetables. 
Carrots, broccoli, tomatoes, capsicum, potatoes, Cauliflower, onions and cabbage.
 I took them away from their cosy drawer,
 To wash, chop, boil and mash them with my masher. Watching them to mingle with each other. 
So vibrant looking.
I could have used electric blender,
 But No!
 I want to wedding of these vegetable to last a bit longer. I gave it the Gift of my special spices.
 Ginger, garlic, chilli, chilli powder, turmeric, salt, Coriander leaves and lemon juice, not forgetting
 A unique blend of Pav – Bhaji masala.
 The aroma is wafting up in the air filling all the rooms. One has to put heart and soul to get the flavours right 
I sat myself on the chair at the window looking at outside To enjoy my Pav – Bhaji and rain too.
 Happiness and bliss.

Spice Box (Masala dubba)

I am the single spice Jar

I feel powerful, important and handy in kitchen.

But I rather be in cup in the stainless steel round dabba.

Next to all my relatives of different spices in their cups.

My contents will spice up all vegetable and meat,

I dream to travel round the world and spice up others

With my hot and aromatic nature.

I am bit sceptical, it might not be to everyone taste.

Just try me out, I might burn your mouth, choice is yours.

I have introduced myself to worlds supermarket,

When I am open, some may sneeze or get watery eyes.

Use me in moderation, and try before you eat too much.

Friday is curry night to spice up life and enjoy.

Remember me in the dabba with my other mates.

Tucked in the cupboard drawer, ready to flavour all.

Favourite Fruit

I have a bumpy body

Many call me bonny bumpy

Some call me prickly hedgehog

When you not familiar with me

Explore, touch and feel me.

Lift, pick and break me apart

I am pure creamy white inside

Lots of long black legs covered with creamy flesh

Just imagine you eating a custard tart.

My childhood memory, open up the fruit

Long black, bat shaped seeds pop out with a creamy layer

Pop them in my mouth and I am in haven!

I am custard fruit (Sita faal)

How to Do threading in lockdown

I miss going to beautician to shape up my

Eyebrow and facial massage.

Can’t do threading,

Can’t do bleaching,

I never did it before by myself

I can use a Plücker to

Pluck each individual hair.

Oh no!

I can’t see, I will mess it up,

I can’t see it without my glasses.

They are growing like a grass in garden.

I can’t use a lawn mower

I stuck my glasses diagonally,

So I can see with one eye

To remove hair from other eyebrow.

I can’t pluck them fast, but

I managed one eye with lots of effort.

I carried on with the other eye too,

It’s not perfect but much neater.

I have practiced this method numerous time.

Now, I mastered my skill with lots of happiness.

Exile

When I am down, I exile from

Cooking, cleaning and being house wife.

When I am down, I exile to become a wild fire

Exploding, screaming and shouting.

When I am down, I exile to become a wild flower

Poking, irritating to others.

When I am Down, I exile into my favourite food:

Wild mushroom soup at dinner time.