Being Sunday today, I am reminded of my childhood days..when my three siblings and I looked forward to Sunday breakfast..
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Sunday breakfasts were always a treat.
Dad donned his blue apron, looking smart
As he ventured into the kitchen.
Mom slept late, while we willing helpers
Stood around awaiting instructions.

Looking back, I'd say -  those were the days
We were very enthusiastic,
We loved Dad's democratic approach.
The menu was discussed openly,
Then tasks allotted to each of us.

The younger two kids were entrusted
With setting up the dining table,
Taking out the pots and pans needed.
Whilst we, the older two, handled eggs
And the more delicate tasks for him.

Mom woke up to noise and the flavour
Of fried bacon, freshly brewed coffee.
The little ones felt very important,
Serving up hot breakfast from the kitchen.
We wished everyday could be Sunday!

With limited culinary skills,
Dad was truly a great Manager -
A trait I identified later.
He made us do ordinary stuff,
With extraordinary pleasure!

Please love me - care for me.
Give me my daily dose
Of butter-cookies and cream.
I am a lonely girl,
Looking for a close friend.

Please love me - care for me,
Kiss me and cuddle me,
I promise to respond.
You'll feel the connection,
When I softly meow....

Something snapped within her that day.
She felt a bullet go through her head,
Killing her spirit instantly.
Shock gripped her and she stood frozen
Until salty tears flowed freely.

She wondered, if her tormentors,
Those miserable egoists,
Understood the extent to which,
Their insensitivity had
Robbed her of her natural armour,

Standing outside in pouring rain,
Without raincoat or umbrella,
She was drenched almost to the bone.
Then looking to the heavens, she said
"Lord, I pray that this too shall pass"

Into his lacy web of deceit
She was lured very cleverly
What started as a fusion of like minds
Soon took on strong emotional tones
He led, she followed rather docilely
Bowing to his every whim and fancy
They moved into a new neighbourhood
And life appeared peaceful and happy
Until some ghosts from his murky past
Were resurrected without warning
An abandoned wife and son turned up
At the doorstep with ample evidence
That he had been living a life of duplicity

Overnight her dreams were shattered
She wore a pained and very haunted look
How could she have been conned by him
In such a complete and perfect manner
He was a spider who knew the intricacies
Of spinning a web with attention to detail
It was so imaginatively done that even she
A woman of intellect had got ****** in
To his credit, had he not been recognised
Accidentally by an old rival visiting the area
His first wife would have never tracked him
They would still be living in his web of deceit

The room was very dark
The candle was the only
Source of light and hope
In her completely airless
Dungeon like home with
Every  door & window shut

She was a poor aged widow
Abandoned by kith and kin
No one had the will or means
To support her with her ill health
The Sisters of Charity visited her
To give her, her daily bread

That night the candle flickered
Afraid she wondered why
There was no breeze at all
An eerie silence prevailed
Apart from the  sound
Of her occasional wheeze

Suddenly her world lit up
She felt a strange presence
In the dark dinghy room
As her husband smiled lovingly
And taking  her hands he led her
Out of her miserable prison forever

The next morning the shocked
Sisters of Charity found her dead
With the perfume of roses in the room