Farinaceous Dreams

In kitchens warm, where shadows softly creep,

The rice in pots begins its gentle sigh.

Noodles, like strings of memories, do sleep,

Unraveled tales of distant lands gone by.

A spoon of rice, a measure of our days,

In every grain, the world’s old sorrows lie.

Noodles entwined in tangled, silent praise,

Of mothers' hands and lovers’ soft goodbye.

Through boiling waters, transformations rise,

In simple starches, life finds its own song.

Cultures converge where sustenance complies,

To bind us close, and yet, apart, belong.

These humble foods, in whispering embrace,

Reveal our common heart, our tender grace.