Hallabol Poem by Puskar Sikdar

The scent entices, yet half the plate remains,
Without food, tell me, who sustains?
A barren tongue, a silent pain,
Eyes restless, hunger reigns.

Breaking through the speechless haze,
An empty stomach dangles, unfazed;
Spices, oils, and tangy craze,
A single miss, and chaos blazes.

Native, foreign—flavors parade,
Tempted eyes, a trap well laid;
Don't let your tongue be swayed,
Keep your mind from hunger's blade.

To crave is not a sinful crime,
Yet taste is rare, a fleeting chime;
A dip in thoughts of grand design,
Health must never fall behind.

Tangled in control's weary chains,
Twisted thoughts and endless pains;
Adulteration spreads its stains—
Did you ever think what remains?

The tender touch of quiet lips,
A restless tide within flesh drips;
The body's rhythm, a trader's tricks,
Only strength shall make you rich!