A Good Scrub

A Good Scrub


I hang my life on a clothesline

Flag-marked with apparel.

Washed clean of my sins,

Assorted pieces, secured in place

With firm pegs.

Lest they fly away

Taking with them

Valuable shreds of evidence,

That I’ve indeed been chastised.

I’m averse to storing my sins

In the laundry basket

Because, in time, they give off

A vile odour, whose source

Can be traced back to me.

Make no mistake.

I wouldn’t deny having erred

Or broken the rules

Or crossed my boundaries.

But I dislike biased courtrooms,

Self-styled lawyers,

Poor judgments,

And naked spectacles.

So, at the end of each day

I take stock of my misdeeds

In complete seclusion,

Soak them in stinging detergent,

Dirty linen, in need of a good scrub,

And wring myself dry

Of hate, anger, jealousy, guilt,

Dust, grime, sweat, silt,

Life’s unwanted gifts.

Till purged, I wear a fresh face

And walk out into the world

Vulnerable to being sullied again.

- Archana Pai Kulkarni