Sunday, August 7, 2011

In my kitchen

In my kitchen, no two coffee mugs
Would look alike..
Earthy ceramics, shiny metal and pretty polka dots
Would grace the shelves hand in hand, side by side.
Just like the people in my life.

No two plates would carry the burden of staying together
Until an exhausted late night crash makes them part
They would all come in a group that is together
Because each one of them is unique and beautiful..
Not because they have to maintain the harmony
Of  subtly dictated artistic uniformity.

Between cups of chai, green tea
And awful American coffee,
And bites of tikka masala, apple pie,
Pumpkin soup and spaghetti
My kitchen would quietly celebrate
My life and its diversity.

The doorbell will ring; the oven will sing
The yellow lights shall stay on till late,
And despite the fragility of too much diversity,
In my kitchen, no one will fret over a broken plate.