Ever since I was born,
I was passed on.
From the factory to the wholesaler,
To the retailer to the customer.

The customer found me handy,   
He carried fruits and candy.
He trusted me with his medicine of pain
And carried me through sun and rain.

Until I began to wear and tear,
And he began to swear and sneer.
I must’ve let him down in a bad way,
That’s why in a corner he put me away.

Then, he found a better use; he
Dressed me up in the bin for the day’s refuse.
By the night, I was sluggish,
Bloating with all kinds of rubbish.

Next morning, the dumpster blew its horn.
Once again, I was readied to be passed on.
I was knotted and chucked,
Like a life cut short and snuffed.

That evening, I woke up at the dumping ground,
To bad stares and scary growls.
Without my knowing, I became a prey,
My insides eaten by a stray.

For next three days, I lay in pain,
I tried to lift but in vain.
The crows and eagles beaked and clawed,
Until nothing was left to prod.

Then, one morning, I found myself in a swing,
Saw my tatters turn into wings;
Someone had released me from my freeze,
It was the early morning breeze.

She scooped me up and whispered with a tease —
“Those who have harmed you will die of a disease.
But you will live on, till the universe must,
For you are Plastic, even Gods cannot turn to dust.”

And that’s how my journey began,
Across the rivers, across the mountains,
Across seasons, and across oceans of time,
A million time, like a looping rhyme.

Poem by Vikram Bhatti