White Rag Poem by okeme james

I am unique and special
Pure and clean without spot, holy without sin
Made from stainless materials
From me reflexes the radiant beauty of the sun

Other rags seems to be jealous
Jealous of my magnificent nature
For they are just used without mercy
Without pity, without love.

They are used as dusters, to clean rubbish
Dirt and oil, grease and babies’ wee
I feel irritated at their sight
And disgusted when they come around me.

They look unkempt, untidy, unloved and unhappy
In fact, they are intimidated at my presence
They look like rags, as in real rags
Stinky, torn, shabby, messy, filthy and torn. Dull handy slaves.

But as days went by, I joined the league
Even at the slightest spot on me
I was baptised in a water of a 100oC or even more
With bleach and detergent to suffocate me till I die.

I suffered the most to remain white
The anguish, torment and pain were just so unbearable
I became so jealous of my counterparts
That I wished I was like them

Day by day, I faded gradually
Less care and less torture
Till I turn brown and then browner
I wished I wasn’t white after all

I now render the same services as they do
Since we all are now real rags
Until we grew old and weak together
And in the same burial rite, we were cremated.