On a whim, I bought some flowers
from a street vendor.
His smiling eyes seemed to ask
what kind of love I was hoping to prove.
It could be a simple, open love
delivered and gone in an instant.
Or a hidden one, trying to push out
through a rubble of vanity and fear.
Maybe a conditional love,
always demanding compensation.
Or an angry one, stolen by selfishness and pride
struggling to get home.
A sparrow, laughs at my silliness
While feeding its young on a naked branch.
At home, a warm and humid smell,
turmeric and cumin and cayenne pepper
greet me kindly and bring me back
from that place where love is theory.
A bowl of your lentil soup is ready.