Reborn

Curd waits in the blender

Its life is over.

A ceremonious end

Still cold.

Skinned shallots weep

Curry leaves sail directionless

Green chillies brave the pain silently,

Ginger is but shattered.

Salt reminds the sore fate

And the purpose of life too.

To transform self into selflessness

Leave a life lived in comfort

Whisked to be the cool buttermilk

And vanquish the hot mid noon of March

When thirst will no longer feel mighty

dominating the throat.

More like a mirage somewhere

Now the curd is no longer there.

The tanginess and melting butter remain

Tastebuds remember the curd

Gone, reborn in a cup of freshness.

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