Ham and egg
And pancake
And omelet
When we hear we can shape
Our mouths get feeling, taste
Good looking and tasty breakfast
But not mine, which is strange
I had boiled the beetroots
Making Laboo; (childhood)
Failed to eat for long time
Bloodied my fridge
Till last night
Took it out; had a touch
Sleazy, it was soft
With some mold on its top
I don’t waste
Not at all
What to do?
I heated, had a bite
Was funny and too much
In morning I heated left over
Added oil, then two eggs
Invented an omelet
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem