I used to love to play the old spice wars while you were still at work;
far from the utensils for the disciplining, you didn’t grow with a boyish lurk.
I had my own kitchen politic and superstition, a legacy from the women, many
who changed my clothes and taught me all secrets of rituals and alchemy
to make anyone happy. So when you used to come home with a heavy shoulder,
and eyes semi-closed; when you took off your jacket and put the laptop bag to slumber.
I used to love that specific black casserole that I bought with supermarket vouchers,
Because that’s when you would finally smile and not let my lips get dry.
So when I left, I left you with that same blessed crockpot, and I hope
you will give it good use and not let it taint in a corner; somehow,
you might cook your own smiles and stew.
Her name is Lara. She was born in 1984 and since childhood, this nomad has written about the worlds built up in her head. However, when she is too lazy to express herself in with words, she uses her simple drawing skill.