Yummy Street Food

All the way on my morning walk

My five senses are engaged

At the sight of onion vadas being fried.

The aroma fills the air

Even as the rancid oil is fuming

In a large pan on the stove.

First, my nose starts protesting

My sharp ears soon joining

Not accustomed to the cacophony

Produced by the men chatting

Gleefully gorging on puris, vadas and bhajis

Though tempted to touch and gobble

I strongly resist to avoid trouble.

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