Love
Love that is unexpressed
Is like the coffer of the miser..!
poem by Rafeeque C.K
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The Old Miser and his 3rd Wife
1
The Old Miser
my husband is dying
and he makes me promise
I must put all his money in his coffin
when he dies
“O my legal third wife
the only one surviving -
you must put all my money
secretly in my coffin”
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
You made me suffer all my life
and now in your death
you want to bring away all the money
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
2
Now, he’s dead
and I’ve arranged for his funeral
and while everyone’s busy
with all these preparations
I dutifully take all his money
from the hiding place
which he whispered to me
with his last breath
and he bit my ear and he snarled:
“Put all my money
in my coffin”
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
You made me suffer all my life
and now in your death
you want to bring all the money away
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
3
So I take all his money
and bring it to the bank
and deposit it in my name
and make a cheque out for 10 million
and put the cheque below his head
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
You made me suffer all my life
and now in your death
you can take all the money away
Sure thing, sure thing
you Old Miser!
poem by Raj Arumugam
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For Years/ A Miser Of Every Minute
FOR YEARS/ A MISER OF EVERY MINUTE
For years
A miser of every minute
For my work.
And now near old age
I understand
All that time given to works
Never to be read,
And so
A seeming tranquility.
If all my time wasted
Why be a miser
Any longer?
And yet,
What have I done?
Can I somehow still
Do something?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Oh, I wish I were a miser; being a miser must be so occupying.
quote by Gertrude Stein
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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While the miser is merely a capitalist gone mad, the capitalist is a rational miser.
The miser does not own the gold, it is the gold that owns the miser.
The Crying From Misery
The miser has concussion when sick,
It is unholy and right if you end;
It contains blessings, the world,
When holiness has defeated;
We are holy, and they are so unholy,
The miser has concussion when sick
Too sick he is that it matters.
The misery of babies is like angelic crying,
You have divine nature when child
And lose when miserable more,
Like an angel it is, then adults shall change,
When babies were also them, also them.
The misery of babies is like angelic crying.
The miser has concussion when sick,
The misery of babies is like angelic crying.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Sonnet
The worldly prince doth in his sceptre hold
A kind of heaven in his authorities;
The wealthy miser, in his mass of gold,
Makes to his soul a kind of Paradise;
The epicure that eats and drinks all day,
Accounts no heaven, but in his hellish routs;
And she, whose beauty seems a sunny day,
Makes up her heaven but in her baby's clouts.
But, my sweet God, I seek no prince's power,
No miser's wealth, nor beauty's fading gloss,
Which pamper sin, whose sweets are inward sour,
And sorry gains that breed the spirit's loss:
No, my dear Lord, let my Heaven only be
In my Love's service, but to live to thee.
poem by Nicholas Breton
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It takes a very deep-rooted opinion to survive unexpressed.
quote by Jean Rostand
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To a talkative woman Madam, don't you have any unexpressed thoughts
quote by Barry Neil Kaufman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Better have friends in the market-place than money in your coffer.
The Love
Lust for power and more power
Is your mask with a power monger
You may think then to annihilate
The weak for the conquest ultimate
Of your devotee- the power monger.
Money and miser in this pair
Of greed you become embodiment
You are a quantity for a miser
Of money and it's aggrandizement
For which he crosses all extents.
Lover and beloved in this pair
You mask adroitly carnel desires
Infatuation & longing on separation.
A mastery you show in presentation
In celestial form human relations.
poem by Ratnakar Mandlik
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Women Are Prone Near
Women with long,
how long will my side,
the youth of the creative charge nut...
I dropped all of his bond was locked...
Star of philosophy, resembling you are far away, in my indulgent,
I am confident I have the heart of the composer, who,
I love my coffer and I - love poetry
One - a sonnet..
I was the drama of life binodinira
acting when I assumed -
Women are likely to
how elongated will this theater.
poem by Palash Dey
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Love's Treasure House
I went to Love's old treasure house last night,
Alone, when all the world was still -- asleep,
And saw the miser Memory, grown gray
With years of jealous counting of his gems,
There seated. Keen was his eye, his hand
Firm as when first his hoarding he began
Of precious things of Love, long years ago.
"And this," he said, "is gold from out her hair,
And this the moonlight that she wandered in,
With here a rose, enamelled by her breath,
That bloomed in glory 'tween her breasts, and here
The brimming sun-cup that she quaffed at noon,
And here the star that cheered her in the night;
In this great chest, see curiously wrought,
Are purest of Love's gems." A ruby key,
Enclasped upon a golden ring, he took,
With care, from out some secret hiding-place,
And delicately touched the lock, whereat
I staggered, blinded by the light of things
More luminous than stars, and questioned thus --
"What are these treasures, miser Memory?"
And slowly bending his gray head, he spoke:
"These are the multitudes of kisses sweet
Love gave so gladly, and I treasure here."
poem by David MacDonald Ross
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Aaron Stark
Withal a meagre man was Aaron Stark, --
Cursed and unkempt, shrewd, shrivelled, and morose.
A miser was he, with a miser's nose,
And eyes like little dollars in the dark.
His thin, pinched mouth was nothing but a mark;
And when he spoke there came like sullen blows
Through scattered fangs a few snarled words and close,
As if a cur were chary of its bark.
Glad for the murmur of his hard renown,
Year after year he shambled through the town, --
A loveless exile moving with a staff;
And oftentimes there crept into his ears
A sound of alien pity, touched with tears, --
And then (and only then) did Aaron laugh.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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A Selfish Lover
My love doth not love but love it feels
Inside my heart which is deaf and mute.
I cannot love thee but my soul peals
The song of love into sweet fruit.
Love is the virtue, I selfishly hoard
A vice to entrap mine only good.
In the miser in me, my fruit I store
And eat for myself as love should.
But my heart doth not hear
And my heart doth not speak
The rich love my soul endear
Or the love thine heart seek?
For I do love one, but only me
If thou call that love or being miserly?
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Flowery Words
Good fortune
I got you
Bad fortune
I do not know
How to love you
And I love you
Like a miser.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Four Reasons, Have I
Four reasons, have I, to be the man I am-
Knoweth me as a man of honor, courage and integrity;
Far away am I, from the family I love more than
Myself-I shall carry my lamity on, with perpetuity!
Away, away-send your fears now, away,
Bring back our love of loves-bring it now, to stay!
I am, still and e'er, the man of your dreams-
I do now coffer my love for thee-no matter how it seems!
One day, realization shall come for thee, indeed,
Understanding proffered, for I knew you to be in need!
A choice you shall be given, yours only, to make
Choose you must, whence offered, as to whether to take!
It is in the example we set, for our own-
That we may demonstrate all the ways we have grown!
Maurice Harris,14 June 2008
poem by Maurice Harris
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Love, Redux
It does no good to hide it any longer,
Your resistance has weakened as love has gotten stronger.
The love, long-coffered, is again as was before-
The amorous ocular surely does see more
When unafeared to look further in its direction.
Fret not, my beloved, love's acceptance also offers its protection.
You must accept that your resistance is futile-
You may be able to coffer your ardor for a while,
But, sooner or later, love catches up to you;
Its puissant presence overcomes you-then what are you to do! ! ?
You set it free and it returned, you need no longer, chase it;
Embrace this love; do not deceive yourself, embrace it!
It cannot be made to disappear-you may not efface it-
This is your 'once in a lifetime', you may not replace it!
-Maurice Harris,4 September 2011
poem by Maurice Harris
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Miser
I had the money
To buy aplenty
And I did spend
On buying gold
For the temple deity.
Prayed, I diligently
Every morning of
Every day,
Even my night
Ended in prayers
To the almighty.
I spent lavishly
On incense,
To get the best
Fragrance ~
For my favourite
Gods – Rama, Krishna
And Sai Baba.
I made sure the
Purohits had
Enough booty
From my share of wealth
To perform
All the holy functions
Impeccably without
Any dearth of
Religious amenities
So that I and my family
Are blessed by the
Holy trinity of
Om Shivai Namaha,
Vishnu and Brahma.
And yet after spending
So much on so many
Candles, sweets, savouries
And garlands of flowers
In their beautiful bounty,
I understand not
Why people still call me
A Miser,
When I tell them that my money
Is for the good, noble cause of
Sanctity, upholding the
Sanctum sanctorum of the
Temple deity,
And not squandering
On giving alms to
Beggars and lepers
Who line the streets
Anticipating my pity.
I, a miser?
God Almighty
I gift you so much
Out of love, affection
And duty.
They misunderstand me,
Don’t they?
For they call me a miser
As I feed you instead of
The hungry souls staring
At me with hunger, poverty
And depravity…
But then, for me,
Religion comes first
So does the opulence
In religious duty.
Hence, I please you
Almighty, with all the
Frills and fills of
Sumptuous feasts and
Social elaborations of
Kali Pooja, Durga Pooja,
Ganesha Chaturthi, Dussehra
And Diwali, not to mention
My very own home worship
Of the goddess of wealth
And prosperity – Lakshmi Pooja
Yet, they say I’m a miser?
Can they not see how lavishly
I spend to please thee…
O God Almighty,
Are they blind?
Give them some vision
So that they can see some
Clarity in my charity that I do
To appease the purohits -
So that they take good care of you
And in turn, I’m taken care by you.
The lepers and the beggars,
May they suffer their Karma
Let them go bothering others
But not me – as I’m with thee.
In your esteemed comradeship,
I’m above and beyond them.
Let me not stoop below to uplift them
Lest I fall and slip on the very floor
They are on, and in the process,
Lose thee, O God Almighty.
Me, a miser?
Let them say
And call me such
Miserable names.
I, once and for all,
Will always…
Classify myself
As an ardent devotee.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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We should so provide for old age that it may have no urgent wants of this world to absorb it from meditation on the next. It is awful to see the lean hands of dotage making a coffer of the grave.
quote by Pearl S. Buck
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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