THE GARBAGE

POEM

Carrying the sweet,

bitter, nasty and nauseating waste,

with the darkness

getting thickened and

spreading across the land

with the day turning night,

the sweet, bitter, nasty and

nauseating garbage

the odour of which is

unbearable throughout

are dumped in the roaring sea

which is like an insane woman.

And the day hands over

its responsibility

to the coming morrow

dreaming about an entirely fresh dawn.

And the bitter, nasty and nauseating garbage

seem to have vanished forever.

But the gone day

knows  fairly well that

everyday is the replication of

sweet, bitter, nasty, nauseating waste

piling up threatening the very

existence of mankind.

The fun is that

each man’s or woman’s

undoings are the cause

of everything dirty.

Still the gone days

dream about a fresh  

and happy new dawn.

While penning

about the subject

each day I can hear the waste collector blowing

his whistle

in front of each house for

collecting the garbage.