By Kanishka Bhandari
Heedful of the heating pot,
Suspended over the fuming flames.
Crackles of a wailing thought,
Luring you to spill your pains.
The flames do little for ebullition;
Must be wary, as the heat will seep,
Through the skin to cause a revelation,
By the tongue that holds your secrets deep.
The pot heats to a boiling height;
The lid taps, oozes the steam,
Then, like lava comes out bright;
The supper is ready; on the spoon there's bean.
Diners are ready, with a bowl in hand,
With the ladle they will scoop,
Relishing your secret grand -
now, that is what I call a soup!
किस kiss
Souper sentimental. Chal ab kal ana
“When life says ‘don’t spill the tea,’ but you spill the soup instead 😂”
Badtameez sab ki sab.
Doosre wali kar deti send. Tu na bus.
Doosre wali Likhi thi, Usko send kar na tha.
Salted and sizzling wounds.