For Porridge

I’m not used to cold twilights

I was awakened by his tap on my shoulders

Asking for something to fill his stomach

With sleepy eyes I reached for my purse

Went outside for a hot meal or a biscuit

Never minding the cold morning fog

Though it’s two in the morning

For I have a patient to feed

Headed to the stores

Reaching through the dark

Down the alley there’s so much to see

Closed shops, locked doors, and empty spot

Dark corner served as parking lot

I hurried my pace to pass by the area

I must say it was truly scary

Hungry and groggy, I never inhaled

Luckily I never stepped on human nor stray dog’s waste

The street, poorly lighted

Vehicles passing, somehow helped

But the danger of bumpers never went away

Finally I came to a food stall

The one our wardmate told me about

They’re selling some good porridge

No pork, all beef

Thick with garlic, the cook said

It was kind of oily though

That when my father took a spoonful or two

Complained for his loss of taste

And appetite, too

And so I had to cheer him up

I ate my part and said it tasted great!

Repeat it many times

Same energy, same happy-trying vibes

My mother noticed and smiled

The one next to our bed glanced at us

He knew I was really making an effort

To make father eat a little more

So he’ll feel better and stronger


He should not have his stomach full

His water intake is only up to liter

We watched him and waited

I know he’s in pain yet he was patient

He ate his porridge, for me…

Deep I knew he wanted to be

Back to life, healthy and free

Smiling, I took his bowl

Almost empty and all

Placed it in the basin for me to wash

I glanced at father laying back in bed

Sooner, I’ll give him another porridge

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