Sighting you coming close,
I feel ecstatic.
As waiting every time so long for you,
Makes me lunatic.
Tell that waiter to,
Not to play games with me.
If he’s bringing you for someone else,
Why is it me he pretends to see?
If unemployment is a grass,
You are clueless that you’re a lopper.
Just because you’re turning even a laziest person,
Into a so called food blogger.
I have a question to ask
And this is so right.
Why do you increase your value when,
You’re at cafés, lounges or places of party nights?
Yet, I love it when ,
Street food is what you’re being called.
Something about your taste enhances,
And hotel, restaurant versions of you are trolled!
Your cleanliness & hygiene are ,
Things you should pertain.
But while street food vendors do it in front of us,
The restaurants play the unhealthy game behind the curtains.
What becomes so special,
When the term home assists you.
A new taste, a new feel you develop,
Making it so hard to resist you.
I loved it when,
Recess bell used to make a sound.
Because I knew it is the time when,
There will be different versions of you around.
To all the existing type of yours
Do me a favour, fam!
Tell them I don’t know who they are
But one day, I’ll find and eat them.