Curry

Spice-laden steam curls from the pot,
A ruby broth that sings of cumin, turmeric, and clove,
Each grain a story, each bite a thought—
A warm embrace in a bowl, a love that won’t move.

From Madras to Manchester, the aroma drifts,
Through kitchens where grandmothers stir with steady hand,
Their secret blends, a quiet gift,
Turning humble lentils to a fragrant stand.

We ladle it over fluffy rice,
Or scoop with naan, soft and warm,
The heat a gentle kiss, not too nice,
A comfort that dispels the storm.

So here’s to curry—Britain’s favourite spice,
A mosaic of flavour, rich and deep,
In every spoonful, warmth suffices,
And memories in every sip we keep.