OMELETTE

(Merry Christmas)

A foggy morning,

stubborn clothes hanging,

willing not to dry

till the clock went past nine!

I discouraged myself

to warm up for a jog:

I had started only a day before,

for my belly like a trapezoid

extended to faraway places

and the Sharmas had 

already started! 

Sigh!

Who wastes a Sunday?

I slept till noon

in peace with the neighbours

who would protest my music...

I call it 'mutated classical',

neither understood I
nor did they!

I sprung from my toilet seat

like a 'monk with a hundred wands'!

The kitchen seemed a hall

and the egg a candle,

I burned my prayers on the stove

with sauces, carrots and capsicum,

each mingling with the onions

like a prophecy of the gods.

The cheese melted like wax

into the yolk of the egg,

into the soul of my gourmet self

and I lived my Sunday

just as I live myself!