Many are birthed in the kitchen eternally,
Only for them to feed the talking pots;
With edibles like music, sounding lyrically.
The aroma that oozes out from the kitchen is their mind,
Not chatting with those who are politically refined,
But echoing into their hearing deaf ears the needs to please Mr. Stomach.
In the kitchen are the hosts for parasites,
Leaving that aromatic settlement,
Brings to the other room close to it a joyful pain.
If I may advise, surely to them in the kitchen;
This I will say, that kitchen's chin chin,
Be taken less to the other room;
Full of fun,
And silly sane.
Inked by;
Jeomen,
Udekwe Johnmary C.J.
No omen, no Jeomen.
©2016