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It is 10.30 in the night,
the next house is busy,
I am wrong, it is no more
an house but an eatery
overnight.

The clatter while making
Kothu [/i]Parotta
tears the silence. Spot
lights shine.

Five or six cooks
mix the flour, roll
into balls, spread them
and swing left to right.

Watching the art of making
such ones with awe,
anguish surges when I think
of the yesterdays ,

the place was a haven of peace
silent and holy. I could hear
the fall of a pin minutely.
I blame none but my destiny.

I like the first two stanzas. The "five or six cooks" throws me. Is the N at the eatery observing them? If so, why since it is so noisy? If she's remembering it from an earlier time, it should be made clearer by the N. I think once that's done the poem will be better.