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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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12 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
    • Shamik Banerjee

      Mr. Peterson, I am very happy to know that you found these poems wonderful. Thank you very much!

      Reply
    • Shamik Banerjee

      I’m glad you think so, Daniel! Thank you for reading and commenting.

      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
    • Shamik Banerjee

      Dear Cynthia,
      I wanted to give the summer months a villainous characteristic; hence the word “gang.” Thank you so much for your precious comment!

      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
    • Shamik Banerjee

      Mr. Freeman, thank you for your lovely comment.

      I see. I also think “state” works fine. I’ll keep a revised version of this poem with this change incorporated. Thank you for this valuable guidance.

      Reply
  5. Margaret Coats

    Amazing application of the “ages of man” to the yearly operations of a ceiling fan. It works so well! I had not realized autumn would be monsoon season in Assam. It that because of the elevation? When I lived in Japan (not far inland), June was monsoon month, though those monsoons are also considered part of the broader Asian season. High humidity remains into autumn, but not such heavy rain. Farther along, your “old age” conclusion here is impressively worded.

    I’m very much touched by the plight of an honest person before the mirror. “Slow-weeps” well describes the continuing, ravaging pain of deception or betrayal–unseen by the mirror and the world. The happier ending of “sun within his heart” is a surprise, but a most perceptive one, showing how honesty has no need of others in order to be bright and warm even during deep discouragement. This too in unnoticed by the mirror and the world. Well expressed observation of the soul, Shamik.

    Reply
  6. Susan Jarvis Bryant

    Shamik, both of these poems are beautiful and heart touching. “A Ceiling Fan’s Life (Is Like a Man’s)” is a wonderful and unique analogy. I think the job of a poet is to look at the mundane from a surprising angle, and you do just that to excellent effect.

    “To a Mirror” puts me in mind of Sylvia Plath’s “Mirror” especially that last painful stanza. Thank you!

    Reply
  7. Cheryl A Corey

    Shamik, after reading your poem, I’ll never look at a ceiling fan the same way again. Both are great compositions.

    Reply
  8. Adam Sedia

    Both of these are impressive. The conceit of the ceiling fan is not something I’ve seen before, and presents a new and somewhat startling metaphor for the lifecycle about which poets have sung since time immemorial. You give us something fresh. I must admit, I was skeptical about the use of your metaphor when I saw the title, but I think you make it work wonderfully. (I also learned a thing or two about the climate of Assam; I never realized its winters were so cool.)

    With the metaphor of the mirror, you turn to an oft-used image, and as a result risk falling into cliché. But you avoid all the pitfalls, and give us something quite different: the mirror is not the candid reflector of the subject, but only shows the surface of a being much more complex than it could ever let on.

    I enjoyed both of these. Thank you.

    Reply

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