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Poem

Rotating on its axis, 
The earth labours
making the world go round
The planets also work,
As they revolve, 
around the sun
The solar system is working,
With the burden of all things

Ants work day and night
To erect hardened anthills
Only for man to callously destroy 
Striving to make ends meet

Plants, trees and other vegetation 
They respond to stimuli: 
Wind and touch;
Science and geography
And other acts of men,
All in the name of work

And everything keeps going round

A little labour does the door 
As it swings on its hinges -
the effect of some work done

The paper sheet blown by the breeze
Travels from one place to another
Just to continue the process 
And prove to you, o haughty sluggard 
That inanimate things do work

To keep his sweat-soaked money; 
The lawyer goes to the banker
The accountant had paid his arrears
He would also get to the clinic;
With the help of a driver 
And his conductor
Both will visit the eatery 
On their way out

And everybody keeps going round, 

Working

We know God is working
Or, so we are told
His angels too, hands-on-the-plough
The devil is losing sleep;
Maybe he doesn’t get any
His demons are not folding their arms
And smiling with you and I
So you don’t think they are left out
Of this common train

All keep going round 
Every day, like a vicious circle
Unveiling the mystery of work

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