I wake up on a usual Sunday morning and look
Usually at the unusual year planner on my wall.
The even squares of days, grin with a bored look,
And sadly, shows me the same words on each slot.
I open a grey wardrobe full of grey clothes to look
For the usual dress I wear, now worn-out as rags.
I sit on a chair and read the same crimped page for
The zillionth time with closed, soar and sleepy eyes.
I pick up one by one, the thrown-out, small wailing
Invitation cards and, put them on intense red fires.
Clitter, clatter and shatter the silver spoons and
Pots and dishes embrace each other in pure love.
The shining, stunning and spinning meals taste so
Delicious, as heavenly meals made with pure love.
“Why my life is not delicious, as the meals I cook?”
The bottles of spices in the kitchen rack laughs at
Me, while I remain pondering with a puzzled look.
“Can a meal taste heavenly without adding the
Right and varying amounts of spices as in recipes?”
Variation becomes the heavenly spice of our lives.
– Rtr. Ashmini Karunarathne
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