You Die; I Die - Love Poems - Part 7 by Nikhil Parekh - HTML preview

18. THE PLATE OF LOVE 

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 .