Topshe Fish with Eggs

Though not a bird, you have attractive wings.
Your every limb is juicy, sweet.
Your flavour, once it fills the mouth,
makes other food taste like goo.

Cleaning you, scrubbing the scales, takes a while.
Can I have you raw? Right now, please?
To behold you is to forget even the son who’s died.
A whiff of you is a whole meal.

I buy you fresh, twenty at a time.
And eat you fast, deep fried in hot oil.
 
Translated from the Bengali

Source: Poetry (May 2022)