The Ceiling Fan Poem by Ehsanul Haque

Round and round it churns,
Cooling all with heat that burns
With blades quite very sharp,
It slices the air as in water a carp
Electricity moves it soothingly,
Yet sometimes quite noisily
O Fan, I wonder who made you,
Wind brushes, brushes through
I oft like your hushed humming whistle,
Like one grinding rice in a thistle
Like the grand AC you do not wheeze,
You give only but a soft breeze
You do not at all easily tire,
A quite dashing point to admire
Your airs remind me of the sea,
O how I wish to take you wherever I be
You stagger noisily while on IPS and oil,
Which hastily brings my anger to a boil
Yet I much crave thy breeze and winds,
Such are my feelings for thy dans and dins.