On a monsoon’s sunday morning

I woke up realising I have got laundry to do.

 

Piled up clothes, sitting on a chair, depressed?

As if they’re mocking me,

with a shirt’s sleeve crumpled hiding the buttons.

 

Exact the way I hide my conscience,

it is minimal but impactful.

 

Wish we had some sort of detergent too

for monthly- (ah? A month? Nope) weekly healing.

 

We all deserve fluidic companions,

on a sunday morning.

 

To hide our consciences,

their presence is like a scoop of liquid detergent,

all set to wash away our temporary worries.

 

I woke up seeing drenched funeral clothes

Why did you leave so soon, my mate?