The early bird eats the worm. That's nourishment, and opportunity. The fish eats the worm on a hook and is captured. That means death, being served on someone's plate for their nourishment. The tequila drinker who eats the worm: he is wasted, there is no nourishment there. Then there's that children's rhyme that goes "Nobody loves me, everybody hates me, I think I'll go eat worms…" that’s not really born of a fear of not belonging, of desperation, of loneliness despite what you think; it is typical to the sort of delightfully disgusting things that children get pleasure out of. Yes, those eensy, weensy, squeensy, wriggly, squirmy worms: nourishment for the child in you. And while you're at it, do spare a thought for the poor worm, so low in the pecking order: the early worm always gets eaten!
My poems are like that. They are happy and sad, born of joy and protest, written with care and thoughtlessness: some may provide your soul with nourishment and some may make you squirm....
To order, please go to any of the following links.( Or you could just search "Ipsita Banerjee Eating the worm" in the amazon link closest to you!)
And in the the US, https://www.amazon.com/Eating-Worm-poems-Ipsita-Banerjee/dp/1979921369/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1511936638&sr=8-2&keywords=Ipsita+Banerjee
Come, let's eat the worm!