Instant noodles in a blue bowl,
gentle whiff of tangy spice,
flavours that only mama can make,
conjure and satiate. Coupled
with tender greens and minced meat,
oh my God, it is time to
eat. With loved ones around and friends
sit tight, such a time is a moment
to cling to – unless or until
the years of longing divide us
once more. Once more with instant noodles
in a blue bowl. It is time
to eat.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem