Nilaga

The pot sits warm upon the stove,
Palengke to home, that hour we drove.
Pork and water, time and heat,
Soon will become a comforted treat.

Squash sinks low in cloudy broth,
Cabbage soft, I love them both.
Soaking flavors drifting by.
It's not making me hungry, yes, I lie.

The broth is clear, yet rich and deep,
A quiet promise it will keep.
No loud spice, no heavy flare,
Just simple taste and patient care.

Steam curls up into the air,
Everyone's distracted, we don't care.
One more minute, one more stir,
The waiting is done. It is here.

A bowl is filled, some rice nearby,
Warm soup lifts everyone's sigh.
Each slow sip, each tender bite,
Feels so calm and warm and right.

Nilaga shared at lunchtime table,
A quiet joy, simple and stable.
Shared with rice, with laughs like a gnome.
This is the kind of meal we all call home.