I tried my best to make this poem as simple as possible. The ending is very open; however I tried not to carry the reader to many vivid images but gave enough for any reader to think. This poem started with me watching a girl online, doing some cooking. I wrote to her in chat “The Pretty Cook” she is pretty but I don’t know her name or nationality. I took screenshots of her cooking and eating. I honestly have no permission to do that or to use the images. But she was in a public chat room. Then I myself went to eat dinner, that’s where thoughts about this poem started, her movements plagued my mind and I said to myself “Oh’ my God, such a pretty girl cooked dinner and ate it all by herself” then I laughed aloud as I am doing the same thing. I was finishing my dinner when I laughed out aloud. The difference I felt was I am a very happy man no matter what life throws at me. I am very well versed to do what I need and I only care about what I need, not what I want or what anyone else think I want. So, my life is very simple and I don’t do anything much to complicate my life or anyone else’s life. This girl from what I saw lives a very sophisticated life and that asks for complexities which made her pause for a while when she was eating. It took little more than three hours for me write this poem. Let me know what you think.
The Pretty Cook.
Morning, noon and evening passed,
Cold, warm and pleasant feelings they left,
Events all around her surrounded,
Commute, work, commute all inside the day filled,
And back at home, in the sweet little home she rested.
The archive of days she called her memories,
They all looked the same with some faces smiling,
Some faces in anger screaming, her face in the mirror crying,
They all abandoned her to the present and into history faded,
History none ever, even in their ignorance may learn.
Still at the prime of the day at the world she smiled,
Glory to you life, glory to all wayfarers, glory to all who smiled back,
The twists and turns of the day by the night unbound,
Hunger from the depths of stomach at high pitch growled,
Meat, vegetables and bread saw light once more.
As the meat in the pot slowly cooked,
And her pretty hands at a steady pace sliced,
Many vegetables then seasonings and sauces added,
The smell filled the kitchen and half her hunger it killed,
Even when cooking like a mindless machine she moved.
At the table she sat, a little prayer and a little pause,
Ah’ that little pause took a mighty stretch,
As at that time her loneliness she felt,
Only her breaths broke the silence,
And those breaths too like a lazy horse slowed.
The prettiness of her Ah’ none can know,
As none was there to see how innocent she looked,
When slowly but steadily she ate what she cooked,
Even when she ate, like a mindless machine she moved,
Finished the meal with a little prayer of thankfulness.
The dishes at a quicker pace she washed,
Then through her mind many days from archives flashed,
But she felt only one image that forever stale in her mind stayed,
Nothing moved, no color any image found, all like leaves of fall dried.
And a wind in her mind took them all leaving baron land.
The machine in her stopped, emotions through every vein paced,
At the falling water from the faucet for a long time she stared,
No questions from past echoed, no questions about future predicted,
Then a drop of tear from her eyes with pain of loneliness fell,
Which she watched, washing away along with the bits of food she cooked.