I came here for the soup, not for the poems

I came here for the soup, not for the poems

I came here for the soup, not for the poems,

Despite seeing it well known for the events,

The youth tries to show;

That they vent their poems,

Slam their thoughts,

Vent their rage,

All because of lost loves and failed hopes;

Their messages often quite true to hear,

Although most are deemed whinings,

Most chose to keep out of fear;

Followed by the sound of ukeleles,

If not from the machine controlled by the disk jockeys,

Followed by beverages,

From San Miguel Light to Fred's own Pina colada,

If not the Korean instant noodles,

Unless they have the bucks for pesto at Bellini's,

All for the sake of new if not rekindling long lost friendships.

But still, I came for the soup and the toasted bread,

That costs for a hundred and twenty pesos 

Enough to satisfy my hunger as well as for the haggardness,

Caused by yesterday's sleeplessness. 

With the fusion of tomato and oregano,

And the toasted bread with Parmagiano Reggiano,

Trying to ease the stress,

Alongside coffee and stresstabs,

Listening to the sound quite 90s like through the DJ's playing,

Yet remixed with all the beats and rythms,

Followed by noises from friends and acquaintances;

Well, nevermind about them,

As I tried to satisfy,

From eating the soup,

And of the toasted bread,

As well as the coffee,

Trying to ease my head.

And as I go home,

Hope not to hear the disses,

From the owner of the house,

Just because of this.