Nikhil Parekh - Indian Poet
When there was appetizing fruit placed on a plate of scintillating silver; I
didn't feel like eating,
I was a trifle too busy contemplating the price of the plate; though there was
nothing wrong with the food.
When I was served immaculately ravishing noodles on a plate of pure gold; I
didn't feel like eating,
I was afraid of impregnating blotches on the plate; when I caressed it with my
bohemian hands; though there were pangs of hunger reverberating in my stomach.
When I was served a blend of Italian cheese and cucumber on a plate of crystal
studded with diamonds; I didn't feel like eating,
I was intensely absorbed in decoding my reflection in the glistening jewels; though the sight of the delicacy made my mouth water.
When I was served a steaming curry of pungent soup on a plate of intricately
chiseled marble; I didn't feel like eating,
I was heavily circumspect on staining the marble in the process of eating; though the concoction looked immensely sumptuous.
When I was served roasted almonds juxtaposed with honey on a plate of pure
sapphire; I didn't feel like eating,
I was completely lost admiring the dazzling radiance of stone; though there
were insatiable desires to tenaciously chew the same.
When I was served sliced onions wound with blood red radish on a plate of
flocculent satin; I didn't feel like eating,
I was skeptical that its contents would spill over the sheets; though there
was a niggling pain in my fingers to snatch the food.
When I was served a bunch of succulent violet grapes on a plate of exquisite
rosewood; I didn't feel like eating,
I was mesmerized by the plethora of designs embossed in the wood; though there
were grinding sensations in my fortress of teeth.
When I was served a chocolate brown plum cake strewn with cherry on a plate of
voluptuous lotus; I didn't feel like eating,
I was lost in the heavenly fragrance of the flower; though my mouth watered
unrelentingly like a starved pig.
When I was served simmering chicken transposed with green leaf on a plate of
snake leather; I didn't feel like eating,
I was enchanted by the satiny complexion of the skin; though my eyes popped
out of their sockets at witnessing the food.
And eventually when I was served a nutritious agglomerate of curd and rice on
a plate stitched with threads of our impregnable love; my beloved feeding me
with her dainty fingers,
I cupidly gobbled the same in no time; compensating for my previous failures;
food had never tasted so tasty before,
As it did when she fed me recounting tales of her childhood.
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
The Plate Of Love
The Plate Of Love
