Sunday, January 10, 2010


This book of magic, for you, my beloved,
Remains to this day, a faraway dream;
For once there were flavours dreamt
To be set before your taste-buds.

Strangely, I have lost that magic wand,
To turn anything into appealing dishes,
Instead I have lost you and my dream,
To an inertia that loves only the self. 

Now no longer the magic appeals,
To the ones who matter the most,
No feathers are seen in my cap,
To display proudly my secret skill. 

You cook and call me a beginner,
While I sit and smile ironically.

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