Posted in poetry, random, Uncategorized

Pancakes.

An intoxicating scent filled my nostrils

As I took my step

I asked my mom, ‘what is that smell?’

She answers, ‘it’s called vanilla, son’

 

The blue box sitting on our cupboard was gone

I saw my mother holding it up high,

As if concentrating on something

Oh, it was filled with white powder

 

I furrowed my eyebrows when mom took out a sunny rock

‘Mom, what is that?’ I ask her

A smile crept on her face and she answers,

‘It’s called butter, son’

 

A silvery fork and a glassy plate welcomed me at the table

I couldn’t help but grin when I saw yellow circles on my plate

‘Bon Appétit!’ I announced in delight

Mom also helped herself with the yellow circles

 

An indescribable taste tickled my taste buds

It was not too sweet or too salty

The taste was perfect

And so was the twinkle in my eyes

 

As I chew the piece of yellow circle,

I noticed something bothersome

How can this be so fluffy

And taste perfect at the same time?

 

Amusement was written all over my mom’s pretty face

It was like she was waiting for me to ask,

‘Mom, what do you call this yellow circle?’

And answer me proudly

 

Something about the taste bothered me

It cannot be candy

For candies are colorful

And some are too sweet

 

I give up!

I turned to my mom and asked,

“Mom, what do you call this yellow circle?”

“They are called pancakes, son,” she replies with a smile

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Author:

"You need to get lost before you find yourself" likes: coffee ☕ || rain ☔ || books 📚 || music 🎧 || writing at 2 AM :)

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