Taho (english)
Tahooo! ! !
The loud voice
of the young Taho vendor
awokes the children
early in the morning
of Saturdays and Sundays.
The young Taho vendor
he always had the smile
and he always added more Taho
at the same price of two pesos
in every cup of every child.
Taho,
I like it too
it's not only delicious
but nutritious too.
But so sad,
several Saturdays
and Sundays passed by
and the voice
of the young Taho vendor
I heard no more.
Oh, yes...
the young Taho vendor,
he's now in Singapore.
How lucky he is
he could earn more
in Singapore.
Taho,
I'm afraid
I could no longer taste it
and the children....
oh, yes
now they wake up late
on Saturdays and Sundays.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Taho
Tahooo! ! !
Tuwing umaga
ito ang gumigising
sa mga batang
kay hirap gisingin
pag araw ng Sabado
at Linggo.
Ang magtataho,
laging nakangiti
at laging
naglalagay ng dagdag
sa bawat tasa
ng mga batang
laging sabik
makakain ng taho.
Taho,
gusto ko rin ito
bukod sa masarap na
ay masustansiya pa.
Subalit,
ilang sabado na ang nagdaan
ang sigaw
ng binatang nagtataho
ay hindi ko na narinig.
Aah, oo nga,
siya pala'y lumipad na
patungo sa Singapore
suwerte niya at malaki
ang kikitain niya doon.
Taho,
sayang naman,
hindi ko na natikman
at ang mga bata....
ngayon ay kay hirap gisingin
pag araw ng Sabado
at Linggo.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Pumpkin grows in Midwife's yard
Her mother is a midwife
and she is a nanny to her far relative.
He collects pumpkins hastily for the sunday fair.
Do you think a street vendor sees pleasant dreams?
Anyhow please do not get surprised
if a street vendor marries a nanny
and she delivers precious children safely
as her mother knows the job perfectly.
Still the pumpkins grow in the yard
and the vendor collects them without any bargaining.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Unfair luck
Dog and I have not much difference,
Both of us stand waiting,
Not for showers of rain,
Or blessings from heaven,
But for a piece of Dosa,
That the small road-side vendor would throw,
The anticipation was would victory be mine or dog’s,
If it be dog’s, he would put it on the road and eat,
If mine I would give to my kid there on the platform.
Everyday this is my routine,
My tough war with the brown dog,
I have no strength to shoo him away,
And grab the bounty thrown by the vendor,
I leave my kid on the platform waiting with hunger,
If a Dosa change shape or become burnt,
Me or the dog is in luck,
We wait eagerly looking at the vendor’s hand,
There are days when the vendor never has a mishap,
When both me and the dog curse our luck.
Today might not be so,
Praying all the God’s that I know,
I was sitting along with the dog,
Looking carefully at the vendor’s hands,
For a long time there was no luck,
Suddenly hearing the screech of the pan,
I was assured a burnt dosa,
With all concentration I looked at the vendor,
The throw was perfect and so was the catch,
The dog caught the Dosa, while death caught me.
To get that one mouth of burnt Dosa for my kid,
I fell before a bus with the Dosa in my hand,
Just to see the dog grab it away from me,
As the unfair luck smiled at me,
Letting me die and my kid hungry and motherless…
poem by Leena Bose
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Recently Found Lost Piece
The days between Saturdays
are too many and too long.
I cherish my Saturdays and Sundays,
but they seem to fly by too soon.
I need them to go as slowly
as those other days.
Those other days - are work days.
And, if you take note,
they seem to drag on and one -
and for the most part,
the weather is quite pleasant.
My weekend days
are meant for fun and relaxation -
but where did the pleasant weather go?
No one wants, needs, or appreciates
the foul weather that waits
for the weekend to happen.
Saturdays Child
By david gates
Monday had a sad child
Always feeling low down,
Tuesday had a dream child
Shes always on the go
Now Im in love with saturdays child
She drives me wild
Gonna spend my time
Makin sure that saturdays child is mine.
If you love a wednesday
Youll live your life apart now
And if you love a thursday
Shes gonna break your heart,
So Im in love with saturdays child
She drives me wild
Gonna spend my time
Makin sure that saturdays child is mine.
Seven days of the week made to choose from
But only one is right for me
I know that saturdays got what it takes, babe.
I can tell by the way she looks at me
Friday likes the good life
Shell take you for a ride now
And sunday makes a good wife
But she wants to be a bride
So Im in love with saturdays child
She drives me wild
Gonna spend my time
Makin sure that saturdays child is mine.
[repeat 8 bars 3 times then fade out]
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Compromise lacks
The vendor expectation was more.
The buyer’s offer did not match.
The deal broke.
The buyer is lured by another.
The vendor waited for another.
The process repeated.
Marriage is easy to break.
Divorce is easy to obtain.
Compromise lacks
28.03.2011
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Saturdays and Sundays, America in the year 2009 does not in some ways differ significantly from the country that existed almost 50 years ago. This is truly sad.
quote by Eric Holder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Children For Sale
'children for sale,
...children for sale, '
the street vendor cries...
'we've got all kinds...
...black and white, brown
....and red...
..boys and girls, take your choice!
...spin the wheel, take a chance! '
who chooses what opportunities,
what chances, what quality of life?
how much education?
what kind of family life?
a degree, a job, a future?
or work with the hands, skilled labor?
or menial work, no work at all....
a life of crime, taught by the prisons?
hope, or starvation?
free, or oppressed?
loved, or hated?
finding a place, following a dream...
or cast to the side?
who chooses?
and why should anyone choose?
'children for sale,
...children for sale...'
the street vendor cries!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A moment in time! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Summer at peak;
a young man
in a white singlet.
Summer at peak;
a young girl
in short sleeves.
Summer at peak;
A child licks
Ice cream.
Summer at peak;
an infant
On inhaler.
Summer at peak;
A young couple
Cosy in cinema hall seats.
Summer at peak;
A vendor
Sells lime water.
Summer at peak;
Gulmohar petals
lie limp on grass.
Summer at peak;
Dust haze,
Road rage.
Summer at peak;
beads of sweat
slide on lips.
Summer at peak,
Street wars,
Blame it on heat.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Not Religious....Sorry......
I love trying to write
I love my poetic friends
I love my children
My pet guinea-pigs, Keith and Dandelion
Green tea
And any coloured vegetable (cause i have too)
My man
My new flowery wellies
The bees that scare me to run
Saturdays throng
Sundays silence
What i do not love is being lectured continually about religion
I loved god and lost my sister
Thats (my truth) and Im sorry
We are all cut from a different cloth (and mine frayed)
poem by Karen Sinclair
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Saturday Sun
Saturday sun came early one morning
In a sky so clear and blue
Saturday sun came without warning
So no-one knew what to do.
Saturday sun brought people and faces
That didnt seem much in their day
But when I remember those people and places
They were really too good in their way.
In their way
In their way
Saturday sun wont come and see me today.
Think about stories with reason and rhyme
Circling through your brain.
And think about people in their season and time
Returning again and again
And again
And again
And saturdays sun has turned to sundays rain.
So sunday sat in the saturday sun
And wept for a day gone by.
song performed by by Nick Drake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Check It Out
Million young poets
Screamin?out their words
To a world full of people
Just livin?to be heard
Future generations
Ridinon the highways that we built
I hope, that they have better understanding
Check it out
Goin to work on monday
Check it out
Got yourself a family
Check it out
All utility bills have been paid
You cant tell your best buddy
That you love him
So check it out
Where does our time go
Check it out
Got a brand new house in escrow
Check it out
Sleepin?with your back
To your loved one
This is all, we have learned
About happiness
Check it out,
Forgot to say hello to my neighbours
Check it out
Sometimes i question my own behavior
Check it out
Talkin?about the girls, weve
Seen on the sly
Just to tell our souls
Were still the young lions
So check it out
Gettin?too drunk on saturdays
Check it out
Playin?football with the kids
On sundays
Check it out
Soaring with the eagles all week long
And this is all, we have learned
About living
This is all, we have learned
About living
A million young poets
Screamin?out their words
Maybe someday
Those words will be heard
By future generations
Ridin?on the highways that we built
Maybe theyll have a better understanding
Check it out
Maybe theyll have a better understanding
Check it out
Maybe theyll have a better understanding
Check it out
Maybe theyll have a better understanding
Check it out
Hope theyll have a better understanding
Check it out ...
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Me Viihdytmme Teit
Poika kysyi isltn voiko joku lukea ajatuksia mun pn?
Voi silkkihapsi, pieni lapsi, ei tietenkn.
Vaan jollei voi, niin kuinka silloin aina joku toinen taho tiet
mua paremmin sen mit mun pieni sielu siet?
Se onkin tarkkaa toimintaa josta selvyytt ei maallikko saa
Is avaa radion, sen kohinassa viesti on
Me viihdytmme teit ja te viihdytte
Me tunnemme teidt ja pienet tarpeenne
Olette kyrin viraston seinll
Sielt hymyilette
Vaan viel levemmin hymyilemme me
Siis joku tuolla tajuaa mua paremmin mit mun mieli haluaa
Siit varma oon ja se ptee mys televisioon
Sill huomaat kai kun lopun sai sekin sarja, joka sensuroitiin tst
On helppoa t kun muut ptt meidn elmst
Me viihdytmme teit ja te viihdytte
Me tunnemme teidt ja pienet tarpeenne
Olette kyrin viraston seinll
Sielt hymyilette
Vaan viel levemmin hymyilemme me
song performed by by YUP
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Angry Young Woman
Angry young woman on sunrise strip,
Walking away to the new world.
She left her man, she left her children,
cause she knows she has only one life to live.
Angry young woman with her background on her forehead,
Three children and two abortions.
Played a little piano ten years ago.
And some typing from the college where she met her husband.
Angry young woman in the dark of the night,
Hears her children crying for dinner,
Hears her man shouting for his shirt
And thinks of the first sundays they spent in the park.
Angry young woman, angry young woman,
Theres no way back, so just keep walking.
Leave your past in your raincoat pocket
And when you turn the corner youll see the new world.
Angry young woman, angry young woman,
Theres no way back, so just keep walking.
Leave your past in your raincoat pocket
And when you turn the corner youll see the new world.
(angry young woman, angry young woman,
Theres no way back, so just keep walking.
Leave your past in your raincoat pocket)
(angry young woman, angry young woman)
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Angry Young Woman
Angry young woman on sunrise strip,
Walking away to the new world.
She left her man, she left her children,
cause she knows she has only one life to live.
Angry young woman with her background on her forehead,
Three children and two abortions.
Played a little piano ten years ago.
And some typing from the college where she met her husband.
Angry young woman in the dark of the night,
Hears her children crying for dinner,
Hears her man shouting for his shirt
And thinks of the first sundays they spent in the park.
Angry young woman, angry young woman,
Theres no way back, so just keep walking.
Leave your past in your raincoat pocket
And when you turn the corner youll see the new world.
Angry young woman, angry young woman,
Theres no way back, so just keep walking.
Leave your past in your raincoat pocket
And when you turn the corner youll see the new world.
(angry young woman, angry young woman,
Theres no way back, so just keep walking.
Leave your past in your raincoat pocket)
(angry young woman, angry young woman)
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunday, Bloody Sunday
Well, it was sunday, bloody sunday when the shot the people there.
The cries of thirteen martyrs filled the free derry air.
Is there anyone amongst you dare to blame it on the kids?
Not a soldier boy was bleeding when they nailed the coffin lids!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Well, you claim to be majority, well, you know that its a lie.
Youre really a minority on this sweet emerald isle.
When stormont bans our marches, theyve got a lot to learn,
Internment is no answer, its those mothers turn to burn.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Hey! yeah!
Yeah!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
All you anglo pigs and scotties sent to colonise the north,
You wave your bloody union jacks and you know what its worth.
How dare you hold to ransom a people proud and free?
Keep ireland to the irish, put the english back to sea!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Hey, hey, hey!
Alright!
Ooh -
Yeah!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Well, its always bloody sunday in the concentration camps.
Keep falls road free forever from the bloody british hands.
Repatriate to britain all of you who call it home,
Leave ireland to the irish not for london or for rome.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunday, Bloody Sunday
Well, it was sunday, bloody sunday when the shot the people there.
The cries of thirteen martyrs filled the free derry air.
Is there anyone amongst you dare to blame it on the kids?
Not a soldier boy was bleeding when they nailed the coffin lids!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Well, you claim to be majority, well, you know that its a lie.
Youre really a minority on this sweet emerald isle.
When stormont bans our marches, theyve got a lot to learn,
Internment is no answer, its those mothers turn to burn.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Hey! yeah!
Yeah!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
All you anglo pigs and scotties sent to colonise the north,
You wave your bloody union jacks and you know what its worth.
How dare you hold to ransom a people proud and free?
Keep ireland to the irish, put the english back to sea!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Hey, hey, hey!
Alright!
Ooh -
Yeah!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Well, its always bloody sunday in the concentration camps.
Keep falls road free forever from the bloody british hands.
Repatriate to britain all of you who call it home,
Leave ireland to the irish not for london or for rome.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Children Misled
Children learn fast these days,
hurling the elders into wonder.
Three Class- Two students
stole out of the school,
approached an egg- vendor.
The cat of them engaged the vendor
in an interesting conversation.
The rat of them pilfered the eggs
and passed down to the third, the bat,
squatting on the floor under a bench
on which the goods were kept.
The bat stored the eggs in his trouser- pocket
and walked back to the class with a soaked trouser.
The teacher called them in as the Sun was hot,
and frying every living thing.
The teacher was kind but strict to truant children,
smelt unpleasant and asked them
why that odour of a broken egg from them?
One fellow bent forward to clean his wet pocket
and an egg from his pocket in the shirt fell down,
got broken, embalmed the floor and betrayed them.
Their tact in planning and execution
made the masters speechless.
I put them under school- arrest
and ordered them to report to me every 2 hours.
I took that action to save them
from being kidnapped by
the underworld barons or
international criminals or the drug traffickers
for grooming them in their trades.
They are inmates of a private Home
receiving funds from abroad.
It is a case of sweated labour and not child labour.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wind Up
When I was young and they packed me off to school
And taught me how not to play the game,
I didnt mind if they groomed me for success,
Or if they said that I was a fool.
So I left there in the morning
With their God tucked underneath my arm --
Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules.
So I asked this God a question
And by way of firm reply,
He said -- Im not the kind you have to wind up on sundays.
So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares):
Before Im through Id like to say my prayers --
I dont believe you:
You had the whole damn thing all wrong --
Hes not the kind you have to wind up on sundays.
Well you can excomunicate me on my way to sunday school
And have all the bishops harmonize these lines --
How do you dare tell me that Im my fathers son
When that was just an accident of birth.
Id rather look around me -- compose a better song
'cos thats the honest measure of my worth.
In your pomp and all your glory youre a poorer man than me,
As you lick the boots of death born out of fear.
I dont believe you:
You had the whole damn thing all wrong --
Hes not the kind you have to wind up on sundays.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Somewhere in La Mancha, in a place whose name I do not care to remember, a gentleman lived not long ago, one of those who has a lance and ancient shield on a shelf and keeps a skinny nag and a greyhound for racing. An occasional stew, beef more than lamb, hash most nights, eggs and abstinence on Saturdays, lentils on Fridays, sometimes squab as a treat on Sundays – these consumed three-fourths of his income.
Miguel de Cervantes in Don Quixote de la Mancha (1605), translated by Edith Grossman
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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