I harnessed the wavy and windy warmth of Indian sunsets within tempered glass;
your glows, I stockpiled,
hoping to heal and repeal pain, mirroring your hands in repairing me.

Your Gilded Gravy grants me gleeful and giddy expressions of every color, creed, and composition to a face,
when scallop and scalion immersion is premised
and matrimonially laid upon a comfy mattress of Basmati rice.

Do you remember the time we coated lamb and beef? 
I made them give thanks for their tongues and teeth.

Your Coriander calmed my core.

Your Cumin waned the weight.

Your Turmeric was termination to my inflammation.

Your Fenugreek tripled testosterone.

Your Chili powder incinerated cancer.

Your Cinnamon shaves off the sugar.

And, your Anise empowers our immunity with unapologetic impunity.

Your sumptuous and savory noteslinger listlessly as a Modi quote.
New Delhi might stand out,but Kerala had never been your collection--which marks an opportunity for culinary correction.

You simmer, and you bubble--harmonizing succinctly with summer cicadas and Texas summer sound bites.

You saturate every sense to a name, and with flavors like you, who needs India's south?  Or, at least least we'd think we didn't.

Thank you for my plasticware's tan jacket.
Thank you for being diametrically opposed to the stale and the pale;
you alone are your own flavor racket. 
Every color is ashamed not to mimic your stain--
the aromatic tint that is Indian's bone-bathing summer.

From the Soul,

📕“Curry (Poem)” is a piece from my upcoming published anthology, “Return from the Pale Trail: Gifts to Humanity We’ve Been Taught to Forget.” I’m ecstatic to share this wonderful piece of literature with the family. I hope you all enjoy. Until then, feel free to check out my other published materials.