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My Kitchen Empire

When my man is under the spell of elusive

raven nights, I carry in my bosom a long

-held secret, in glimmers of the faint

candle-light

 

I carefully lay my eyes upon the shelves of my

oriental kitchen, laden with my bridal 

copper pots & pans, embellished of

emerald peacocks and exquisite

Mughal florets.

 

My majestic Indian Mortar, Earthen Moroccan

Tagine lay enthroned midst the spice

bazaar, magical herbs gilded like

jewels in the crown of my

Kitchen Empire .

 

As I stir heavenly liquids against thick walls of

ashen pots the mushroom fumes of blunt

peppers, topaz turmeric soar much high

raising the temperatures of cold

Connecticut nights.

 

Uncle Sage and Aunty Rosemary sit beside me

all night whispering to me the magic that

will unfold tonight, as I stir the curry

in circles with all my might I often

shed a tear- or so on 

 my plight ,

 

The divine basil fills up my senses and assures

that things will go alright, while the ruby

peppers keep raising the temperatures,

and tiny sparkling drops crawls through

neck much to my annoyance.

 

Lamenting lemon appears, splitting into a glorious

vision of two, infusing with the clear waters

of great American Land quenching my

thirsts with concoction of fabled

lemonade. 

 

As the coterie of spices tinker in the pot, I realize

I need one more ploy and blow a puff of

aphrodisiac Fenugreek to stop the

ensuing battle tonight…

 

All this and more till oriental sun-rises on my imperial

Kitchen Durbar….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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19 thoughts

  1. I don’t think Samuel Taylor Coleridge himself (after forgetting the rest of the lines to his poem Kubla Khan because he smelled the scent of your curry coming from the kitchen) could have written a better description of your creating recipes in the empire of your kitchen. 👍

    • Thanks honey, I’m very glad you enjoyed it! When stressed what can be more therapeutic than kitchen? I love my pots and pans 😉

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