Nostalgic Bites

In a small open kitchen, memories brew,

With flour, eggs, and love so true.

Mother's hands, a symphony of care,

Creating paratha rolls, a snack so rare.

Each layer of dough, a canvas of delight,

Folded with accuracy, a culinary sight.

The sizzle on the hot plate, a familiar sound,

As aromas of home spread all around.

Egg omlette meets the golden dough,

A marriage of flavors, a memory to bestow.

With each bite, a rush of childhood glee,

A simple pleasure, a cherished decree.

Tea in hand, its warmth a gentle embrace,

As rain falls outside, a peaceful space.

The kitchen alive with laughter and chatter,

A haven of love, where memories scatter.

Though mother may be afar in miles,

Her love, her touch, forever beguiles.

In every paratha's flaky fold,

Her essence, her love, never grows old.

So, here's to the snack of yesteryears,

To childhood joys, to happy tears.