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A Ceiling Fan’s Life (Is Like a Man’s)

On wintry days, it rarely spins
Except when mopped floors need to dry.
Its mission, once December’s in,
Is just to idly hang on high
And watch us squabble, cackle, cry
In earthy dramas’ peace and strife.
This is the childhood of its life.

When April faintly sobs, “Adieu,”
And week by hot week May draws near,
We switch it on, but for a few
Minutes when noon rays singe and sear.
Though used at this time of the year,
It’s mostly idle—just a teen
Fixed on that childish, old routine.

As summer’s tri-month gang stands tall,
Subduing springtime’s pleasant breeze,
Its duty never ends at all.
Two great responsibilities:
To cool us down and bring us peace
Of sleep. It toils without a halt—
Hence, finally, a true adult.

When autumn and his peer monsoon
Arrive, their north wind takes its place.
Less burdened now, it hears the tune
Of drizzle that wets nature’s face.
Indeed, a sweet, relaxing phase.
It hardly spins—once in a while—
When middle age comes with a smile.

The days of winter come again—
This time as life’s enfeebling stage.
Now gathering dust, it is a den
For crawlers. No one to assuage
Its plight or clean its blades: old age.
It lies unseen above our heads,
Forgotten, hushed, alive, yet dead.

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To a Mirror

How long will you keep showing man
_His outer, fleeting states
And not the dictum written on
_The pages of his fate?

Why is your fervour only for
_The phoney and the snide?
They sneer at you; you do the same,
_And thus enlarge their pride.

But one who, honest, when deceived,
_Ravaged, and torn apart,
Slow-weeps before you, you don’t show
_The sun within his heart.

—both previously published in Rundelania

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Shamik Banerjee is a poet from Assam, India, where he resides with his parents. His poems have been published by Sparks of Calliope, The Hypertexts, Snakeskin, Ink Sweat & Tears, Autumn Sky Daily, Ekstasis, among others. He received second place in the Southern Shakespeare Company Sonnet Contest, 2024.

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4 Responses

  1. Roy Eugene Peterson

    Comparing the ceiling fan seasons to the cycles of life is an inspiring poem that touches the heart, since it is such a fitting example. The mirror that only can reflect the outer being of our existence is a well-phrased and rhymed poem that also makes us reflect. Shamik, these are two wonderful poems.

    Reply
  3. Cynthia Erlandson

    Your metaphor comparing a human life to the life of ceiling fan is a very original, clever idea, and quite a delightful read. Each phase of life is visually presented. I love your phrase, “summer’s tri-month gang”! And “alive, yet dead” actually works to describe a dormant ceiling fan.

    Reply
  4. Paul A. Freeman

    The ages of man told with the extended metaphor of a ceiling fan – brilliant!

    Away from temperate climes and wealthier nations with their ubiquitous air-conditioners, you give the topic a raw, exotic feel (for this ‘northern climer, anyhow), full of monsoons and searing suns.

    Ode to a Mirror, full of observational philosophy, gets a two-thumbs up from me, too.

    A small suggestion – in line 2, I felt ‘state’ works better than ‘states’.

    Thanks for the reads, Shamik.

    Reply

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