You start with flour –
Two cups of it
Heaped in a mound,
With a well in the middle,
To which you add
A cup of water,
A spoon of yeast,
And a pinch of salt;
And then you commence
The mundane task,
Of bringing it all
Together.

Thereafter,
You proceed
To knead
And prepare
The dough,
Which you will later,
With a rolling pin,
Roll.

What started off
As two cups of flour,
Ends up on your plate
As dinner rolls,
And as you dig in,
Savouring the taste,
Of this freshly baked
Magic borne of flour and yeast,
Drenched in delectable gravy,
You forget,
For the briefest moment,
The torment –
The torment that had assailed you,
The minute you entered
Your kitchen,
And contemplated –
Whether to eat
To your heart’s desire,
Or to resist
The urge to feed the fire
In your belly,
The one that seeks to live
In order to thrive,
Beyond merely exist.

Image Credit: Photo by Matt Bango on StockSnap