My hotel’s near Taj Mahal,
where the muezzins call.
Starving in my suite,
I order junnu to eat.
Staff tell me it’s sweet.
It’s wobbly and white.
Nervously, I bite
It slowly dissolves,
my droll tongue dances and rolls
Earth halts its revolves.
My mouth melts with suds.
They are soft as jasmine buds.
Junnu beats boiled spuds.
Savouring the tastes,
My lids slip sink in sleepy states,
until taste abates.
Luring me like bait,
were treacly dates on a plate.
Their smell swells my weight.
Dark dates will at last,
tether my sweet tooth so vast.
I reach for the fruit
I crush my cravings by root.
It brims me to boot.
I’m dying to dose,
so, I can rise like a rose.
Feel how morrow flows.
I’ll mount all step-walls,
fuelled by fresh date protein balls,
bought from market stalls.
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