The Struggles of a Washing Machine

The Struggles of a Washing Machine

O, Lord! The dawn scares me;
A harrowing day it's going to be,
To think of Sabbath or the day before
When my whole body becomes sore,

Trying days for me are these days
Which I am compelled to face,
A pile of dirty linen is thrown in
Just as waste thrown in a bin,

Gushes in water, warm or cold,
As the technician has told,
Special powders are then added
And the finger pushes the buttons coded,

In a split second, I start to spin
With all the linen that is within,
I don't know how long I spun,
But stopped when the job was done,

Wet clothes cling to my body,
Those of the lord and the lady,
Whose beck and call I dutifully serve,
To refuse, I have no nerve,

Then starts another round of spin
To dry the clothes bundled in,
The spin goes on and on
Until the wetness is fully gone,

My body with pain aches
Which, days and days, it takes
To dissolve and make me better,
A word of complaint, I'm not to utter,

By the time I recover from pain,
Another washing day comes again,
Thus begins yet another whirligig day
And to stop the grind, I've no say.

My story is a very long one,
To narrate all, it is no fun,
Since brevity is the soul of wit,
I conclude my story with this bit.

Raghav R
31 Jan. 2019