Skip to main content

Messy Kitchen!

     I was just filling in some new recipes in my Cook - Book, when I thought of scribbling something too!
So here goes;



MESSY KITCHEN!


Cinnamon, Cardamom, Ilaichi,
How many sticks of Dalchini??
How in the world will I make chicken gravy,
When I don't even know how to clean the chickens' body?!

Mix, Fold, Beat and Bake,
Why won't my stupid cake break?
How many jars of sugar will it take,
To finally sweeten this bitter milk shake?

Oh Lord, Why am I in this dreadful dilemma?
I've even forgotten my good, gallant Grammar!
I wonder why I'm making dessert from Batata,
I bet my brain's up to some attention drawing drama!

If I don't grow up to be a kitchen smartie,
I guess I'll just have to survive on Maggi!
It's high time; I should stop being lazy,
Get up girl, and learn from Mommy!

- Maryam Kaleem

Comments

  1. its a nice quick one..

    but...

    you don't clean the 'chicken's body'... ur just cleaning the 'chicken'.. (i guess)

    also.. regd the spices..
    cinnamon = dar/l-chini and cardamom=ilaichi.. so not very sure how the links with the english hindi went..

    dont hit me for being so critical man! :P

    also.. not just u.. all of ur family would be on maggi ;) or indomie as of today :P

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yes, I know about the cinnamon cardamom thing... But I still put it there. Dunno why! :P
      And don't come home, cuz I'm just stepping out to buy a HAMMER! :P

      Delete
  2. He he.. U funny :) good one,nice attempts for rhyme schemes... Keep writing

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Double Murder

DOUBLE MURDER Book spread-eagled on the desk Fallen flat after a leap of faith. A morbid, macabre morgue, It stinks of rotten Fate. Skin grainy and wrinkled, Pale yellowy flesh. Dog eared, unbound, A murder - bloody fresh. Scarlet rivers overflowing Every finger, every limb. Veins of protein rich blood, Splattered over the brim. Black ants form a queue Muttering in meters, Chanting hymns to the Devil And his creeping, crawling critters. No lone murder, Second victim at its side. Eyes in Keatsian stupor, Dead or alive? Kick the bodies over, Pages unfurled fly. A shroud for the corpse To let out a sleepy sigh. Alarm bells a-ringing, A frantic dance of unrest, Caffeinate the eyes, Tomorrow's the test! - Maryam Kaleem

Calling on an Empty Home

CALLING ON AN EMPTY HOME Familiar streets, familiar buildings, An old key to match the rusting lock A stubborn door, weathered and wise - Lift it to the right and it creaks open. The old wooden table, with notches and scratches, The same burn from the spilt milk. I wince - I feel the sting, a decade too late. The same wall with incomprehensible dashes Like ants crawling in zigzagged fashion, A letter, a dash, a number, An unraveled code of growth and wisdom, With dusty trophies as evidence. A worn desk with crumbling papers And jammed books, All holding the memories of a time that once was, A time, never found again. Familiar walls, familiar pages - An absence of faces, an absence of voices. Memories volleyed from wall to wall, Fate decreed, page after page, Now lying undisturbed, unheard. A flood of nostalgia unleashed Through the opened door Into a cold, fragile mind, Brimming, overwhelmed, Screeching with echoes. So...