life is in the clothesline till master decides to wear
then in the bucket or chair, till HE runs out of underwear
for then comes the next halt, the poor washing machine
but beware to go there you must APPEAR unclean.

step into the kitchen, they have another story to say
“may HE never fell hungry”, is what they daily pray
for after his experiment, the one hour sojourn
it will be eons before the washing would be done.

wish i were his laptop,says the bed linen
HE cares for it so much while HE is bed ridden.
and i enviously look from the corner of the bed
trampled, misused, dirty, i wish i were dead.

to the linen says the laptop,”its the greener grass other side,
misuse is an understatement,in being laptop there is no pride.”
peep inside sometime,and you’ll be the enlightened one.
the four great sites of Buddhism, hope you got the pun.

“i’m glad” exclaims refrigerator, for being empty and not on
every time HE is alone, i’m at the verge of becoming a chemical Bomb.
the weeks old dosa batter, and their elder entremets
to make the me stink like that, wonder what pleasure HE gets.

then the ones who could speak, but silently bear the tyrant
“careless,lazy” is euphemistic and “selfish” would be blunt.
with no defense I smile at the defenseless souls around.
“mom is coming back in a week”, to their glee the phone sounds.