glass humus drake
falcon dray
fossil zig hurray

What's in a name?
I know, that question's passé and lame
But, really, what is in a name?
Zucchini and courgette, are they not the same?
What's in this fruit's call to fame?
What's in a name?

Laughter is the
Languages
Of the soul
Dreams are junk
Food for the mind
Delicious
Nightmares
Are like a meat
Or protein shake
Taste bad
But won't **** you
Just makes your soul stronger

The List:
carrot, eggplant, arbi,
capsicum, green peas -
press one for more options -
apples, new list apps
applesauce and ketchup
not Heinz but the cheaper one,
a new pressure cooker because the whistle doesn’t work
And with each tweak it tizzles out more,
theek nahi hai, yaar  
no matter how many times you take it in,
it’s just jugaad again,
a permanent temporary fix,
so we need a new one, stainless
steel and big, bara
to cook all of your dreams.
grand total rages against your wallet,
paper thin but it’s digital,
anyway,
your eyes glaze, blaze
as the bag boy, too tired, too hassled,
too underpaid squishes the eggs
beneath the cooker
the shells quake in your eardrums
the smell of something rotten
beneath all those discounts.

snow never comes early down south
if luck kisses our brow maybe
an inch near the Epiphany
those days we huddle near the windows
wrapped in wool and hot cocoa
baklava bleeding honey, our eyes
nailed to the fences watching cardinals
red wings flapping like poinsettia petals
a warm breath on a chilled grey sky.

I walk into the kitchen and my adventure awaits
I get out a bowl and put in 1/2 cups of butter.
I look at the creaminess and imagine its fate,
Soon it will become a delicate structure.

Next, you sift the sugar gleaming in the light.
Looking at the two separate things in my bow,l
I mix it together and they do not fight.
They go together so easily and it fills my soul.

Across from me is the basket of eggs, clean,
brown, and round, right from my backyard.
One and two they look so pristine.
Yellow in the center and the whites as its guard.

I open my creaky cupboard and grab the vanilla
I smell it, so sweet, but I taste it, it stings.
Its what gives it that something but its a killer.
Pouring it in as I sing.

Coco, its just like the vanilla, its bitter but sweet.
It get everywhere when I pour it,
it puffs up in a cloud of a sweet treat.
So fine and soft, it fills my spirit.

Finally, to finish the sweet brown goo
you add in a bit of flour,
it keeps it all it all together and completes the brew.
And just like that, it been a hour.