WD-40

The world erupts, a cacophony of creaks,  

door hinges argue with the stubborn past,  

chairs moan like aching old men, tired.  

The symphony of stuck is relentless, loud.  

But then, a silver can hums softly,  

its whisper drowns out the chaos.  

WD-40 isn’t a miracle, exactly

more like a lullaby holding things together.  

It coaxes the unyielding into surrender,  

turns grinding into a smooth pirouette.  

Bolts loosen, air swells with relief,  

and suddenly silence is a revelation.  

Imagine no peace for rusted guts,  

a sticky hinge never finding grace,  

the rattle stealing sleep from the walls—  

what a noisy life to endure, unkind.