ECHOES OF A FORGOTTEN SUNDAY

The warmth of that tranquil morning, When sleep was allowed to conquer discipline. My mind unburdened, casting away tension, setting free the caged birds of the heart. Waking at work-time familiar hour, When night was meant for rest, not silent tears. Seasons whispered of freedom, not confinement of wings eager to stretch, not wither within. That Sunday, when mother nurtured our dreams, and joy bloomed, shared in the smiles of siblings. But nowww.... ohhh, hollow Sunday!😩 What became of you? Sleepless nights and waking with a furrowed brow, eyes rain with silent droplets, joints ache with strain. Lethargy drips through the day, where did happiness vanish, without so much as a goodbye? Is kindness now locked away behind cold doors? Is cruelty the word that turns hearts to stone? What happened to humanity when all things grew harsh and numb? An instinct whispers: Let’s reclaim Sunday. Yet life retorts: Breathe, while you still can, it may be your last. ©Joel Osinachi 🌹