Factory worker.

Like a factory that never sleeps

I do all my three shifts

No increments, no gifts

I dance, I twirl around, I listen

To make sure the machines don’t make a sound

That they glisten

Glisten till I see my reflection smiling back at me

Sadly, dissolving in itself, like it should be

Satisfied I move on, to the afternoon shift

An afternoon of pacing around and thinking

A secret pleasure I indulge in, no one knows, my innate gift

They only know me as an ornament, pretty and glittering

Sighing I move on, to the night shift

Every night replicated in perfect uniformity

In bliss, in boredom I drift

Hoping, wishing and praying for a calamity 

A calamity that will wash the clockwork away

Away and out into an abyss where no human could stray

And I will be no more held by the world taking my attendance

And I will be no more a mere resemblance

Of my mother, her mother and her mother who bore no sons

 

 

 

 

 

 

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