The Old Woman And Her Loyal Maid
the old woman is very rich
she has two children, a lovely daughter and a very naughty son
the lovely daughter dislikes her
and the naughty son wants to kill her
she slaps her often and the more the daughter wants to go away from her
the son is disturbed and furious because he did not know his father enough
the daughter married a gentle man
and the son went away with no know address no known destination
he never came back
while she lives her own life away from the rich woman
the old woman has a loyal maid
who has no memory of humiliating words that the old woman more often
inflicts in her person
the old woman is dying
but the son and daughter have no respect anymore for such word
as mother.
meanwhile the loyal maid keeps swallowing the pesters of the old woman
expecting a part of the wealth
as her pay and legacy
well, this story cannot have an ending yet
the old woman is still alive and the son and daughter are still making up
their minds
what to do next.
Life is a comma. The ending always waits
for something that will be a happy one.
But who knows, except this one, something tragic may happen
at the end. Who knows?
I will for sure.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
The Women
This world is, because of the woman
this universe is, because of the woman
nothing exists without the woman
our existence is, because of the woman.
Why being a woman then
should be humiliation?
Why a woman then
should face indignation?
always the woman becomes the prey...?
always the woman has no say.....?
The woman is a mother, also a mother–in-law
the woman is a sister, also a sister-in-law
the woman has many roles to play
a daughter-in-law perfects that night & day.
Why then a woman does
torture another woman?
Why does a ma-in-law
torches a daughter in-law?
Why does a woman destroy another’s world?
Why does jealousy overcomes a sister-in-law?
In the woman, power is manifest,
yet she is unaware and that is a jest.
she becomes Durga when in rage
telling everyone, she is no sage
the woman is where, awakening is there
her absence creates crematoriums everywhere.
Why do then a woman abhor the birth of a female?
Wants a child, whose gender is male?
the male is indebted to her for the courage and life
yet no rewards for the woman, her entire life.
This is the story of the woman, full of anguish
Plight of a woman is because of another’s wish
Exploitation of the woman could not have taken place
Had a woman given the other a little more space.
poem by Tribhawan Kaul
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I Am Not A Woman...
I am not a woman that loves with a heart
I am not a woman that's silly and smart
I am not a woman with open wounds
I am not a woman that's more attuned
I am not a woman that you hold dear
I am not a woman that has no fear
I am not a woman that's loved or lost
I am not a woman that doesn't know the cost
I am not a woman that's hurting inside
I am not a woman that has no foolish pride
I am not a woman that can't look you in the eye
I am not a woman alone that cries
I am not a woman that's imprisoned with chains
I am not a woman that holds her will in vain
I am not a woman, or mother, or friend
or wife, or daughter, or one to depend
I am not a woman of all and more
Because I gave it away to the one I adore
what's left is all you see
Just a woman that truly believes
The Sleep-Walkers
In the town where I was born lived a woman and her daughter, who
walked in their sleep.
One night, while silence enfolded the world, the woman and her
daughter, walking, yet asleep, met in their mist-veiled garden.
And the mother spoke, and she said: 'At last, at last, my enemy!
You by whom my youth was destroyed--who have built up your life
upon the ruins of mine! Would I could kill you!'
And the daughter spoke, and she said: 'O hateful woman, selfish
and old! Who stand between my freer self and me! Who would have
my life an echo of your own faded life! Would you were dead!'
At that moment a cock crew, and both women awoke. The mother said
gently, 'Is that you, darling?' And the daughter answered gently,
'Yes, dear.'
poem by Khalil Gibran
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Mothers And Their Daughters
they struck him down hard early in life
he slaps me around plenty
i cannot leave
my daughter never cries
to feed my daughter
i will take on the whole lot of you
the young men howl
i am a mother in time of famine
my daughter dying at my breast
my husband wants a son
my first child a love child a daughter
a wedding to make it right
a family joke to keep me honest
they have a one child policy here
he took my first child my daughter
sold her to the americans
as a child they mutilated me
for fear i might become the woman i am
they will never get to my daughter
I am told to hate my burqa
it keeps my secret from him
my daughter will wear the burqa
poem by Paul Bamberger
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The Grenadain Woman
Yes me woman, from my womb life was borne
Yes me woman, the young ones prune by my hands
Yes me woman, with the coves that sways with the redeem of the heart beat, tup-tup, tup-tup, tup-tup, tup-tup
Yes me woman, with beauty unimaginable, soft to the touch
yes me woman, with the voice of a heavenly being, soft, gentle, comforting, encouraging
Yes me woman, determine to succeed with the strength from above
Yes me woman, the days have gone, long gone for her to depend on the strength of another man
Yes me woman, her time has come for the world to see her for who she really is
Yes me woman, creative, innovative, confident, intelligent, loving, kindhearted
Yes me woman, mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend, lover
Yes me woman, The Grenadian woman.
poem by Curliann Mark
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Without loving your own daughter
Without loving your own daughter
It is not possible on your part
To love the daughter of others.
Misbehaving your own daughter-in-law
You are not in a position to think good
To other woman and to give respect to laws.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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A Mother Does Not
A mother does not raise her child for to fight and die in war
Or to kill another Human Being in a Country from home far
That her son or her daughter should at someone else shoot to kill
A person they have never known or who have never bore them ill.
Picasso's 'Screaming Woman' is for all woman kind
The mother weeps for her dead child with grief 'out of her mind'
Mothers do not raise their children for to be remembered on War Memorial Day
For to fight in war for war mongering non combatants and throw their lives away
A mother raises her son or daughter so her seed of life will live on
That her genes will still be around when she herself has gone
From the World of the living to be numbered amongst the dead
I wish for my children to outlive me that's what the mother said.
A mother does not raise her child for to meet with an early death
Not for her War Memorial Day or the words 'Lest we forget'
She wants her son and daughter for to grow old and gray
And she does not wish to hear of War and War Memorial Day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Daughter Of Darkness
Woman, I can remember a woman
Warm were her kisses and tender was she lying there in my arms
Why
Why, did you deceive me so?
What devil inside made you go when I needed you most of all-ll
Oh daughter of darkness
Stay out of my life, my life
You took my heart and broke it apart, you daughter of darkness
Daughter of darkness
Please, leave me alone forever
Daughter of darkness, gone is the love that we shared together
Heaven, we had our own kind of heaven
Sharing together the magic of love in a world of our own
Then oh so suddenly you were gone
The love I depended upon disappeared when you werent away-ay
Oh daughter of darkness
Stay out of my life, my life
You took my heart and broke it apart, you daughter of darkness
Daughter of darkness
Please, leave me alone forever
Oh devil daughter of darkness, gone is the love that we shared together
Oh daughter of darkness
Stay out of my life, my life
You took my heart and broke it apart, you daughter of darkness
Oh daughter of darkness
Stay out of my life, my life
You took my heart and broke it apart, you daughter of darkness
Daughter of darkness
Please, leave me alone forever
Oh devil daughter of darkness, gone is the love that we shared together
[fade]
song performed by by Tom Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Man is not whole, sans woman
Body sans soul is a corpse.
Soul sans body is ether.
Man is the corpse.
Woman is the soul.
Both together make life.
The corpse deteriorates.
But the ether exists.
Sans woman, man decays;
Sans man, woman stays.
Woman qua volunteer to Gandhiji,
woman qua adopted daughter to A.B. Vajpoyee,
woman qua daughter to Pandit Nshru
lent to respective men the soul.
26.12.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Sex has no age
A man can fall for a woman,
Young enough to be
His daughter or grand daughter.
A woman can fall for a man,
Young enough to be
Her son or grandson.
A girl can respond to a man,
Older enough to be
Her father or grandfather.
A boy can respond to a woman,
Older enough to be
His mother or grandmother.
Spectrum of sex is so catholic.
09.08.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Chauvinist
I’d never really comprehended such a mighty range of
Shapes and sizes down behind, it’s really rather strange:
The buttock muscle in a woman, overlaid with fat
Is actually such a focal point for men to want to pat
Or squeeze, and then to tease her if it’s eminently stout,
Or even risk a stay in clink to sting it with a clout!
After all, we men are tuned to be that way inclined –
And tho’ our needs are varied, girls, they’re all perverse of mind!
Best of all, our sacred dream: to see her shed her gown
When gliding to the shower for the ritual sponging down.
But then alas! With body lathered, oops! she drops the soap;
‘Please! ’ we beg her, ‘bend and bare! ’ But we can only hope!
I’m sure by now you get the picture – like a rule of thumb –
That men like me obsess all day about the fairer bum.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
My dreams are of a
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You ARE A Woman :)
You are a woman,
A strong woman,
A grown woman,
One who WON'T give me what I want just cause I want it woman.
He needs you woman,
A loving woman,
Non-trusting woman,
One who knows the difference between right and wrong woman.
I found a woman,
You're one of em,
So many love em,
You just need to see the places you can be woman.
Hear me woman,
Don't fear me woman,
You're near me woman,
We all face strife, gotta change yo life woman.
See me woman,
No fake or frontin,
Can't be me woman,
For I am a man and you need to be a WOMAN!
['Enpowering women since the age of -9 months :) ']
poem by Tamell Bailey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Beauty of the Woman
The Beauty of the Woman
For Thea and Alexi Katherine ~ 16 April 2011
The beauty of the woman is behind her touch
In the space between her fingers and the son’s
As he takes his first steppes
Between her hand and the daughter’s
As the father leads her down the isle
The beauty of the woman is behind her eyes.
In the circumference of each teardrop
Which shrunk: keeping pace with the contractions.
And disappeared when the daughter
Kicking and screaming was laid on her chest
Which became a stream of awe—wondrous
Even as the daughter found comfort on her breast
The beauty of the woman is behind her smile
Which she held through sleepless nights
Teething, feeding, monsters, and proms
Through the holding and the swaddling
Even the letting go…
The beauty of the woman is in the strength
To hold, to watch, in love-eternally
To spend eternity letting go
Of the hand that grasped her pinky
And each little piggy-toe
The hand she felt inside her
Which made her beauty glow
The beauty of the woman is
Something I’ve only seen
Something I know incompletely
But touch with my own hands
but the beauty fall between my fingers
and the beauty behind her hands.
poem by Aaron Graham
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Her Hidden Treasure
Her flame was only for the women –
Not for us unlucky men;
A weakness lay for feminine way:
To feel an even fairer skin
In silky slide.
Her lips were for the satin love that
Only flows from rising breast;
The creamy tan was not for man
To pull towards a chiselled chest
In weathered hide.
Her hidden treasure down below
Would shy away from macho length
And only rouse upon the blouse
Undone by other sapphic strength –
In time, inside!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A woman
A woman
Is a mother
A daughter & a wife
The only one to play
Three roles in one life
Full of love & affection
Concern & compassion
Patience & determination
Does
Everything for her child
A woman's heart
Is filled with passion
Suffers more
But complains less
Than men
When it comes to
Self-respect
She can fight like a tiger
A woman
Is no less than a man
Can do all that
The man does
08-03-2012
325-59-03-12
(Poem On International Women's day)
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A little extra, from an extra ordinary woman
She goes out of her way and travels that extra mile
Because she is an extra ordinary woman
She consoles you, smiles with you, cries with you and for you
A little extra than anyone else
Because she is an extra ordinary woman
She spends on you a little extra than she does on her own self
Because she is an extra ordinary woman
She uses her extra strength and wisdom to pick you up when you fall
She blinds her sight to your imperfections
Because she is an extra ordinary woman
She loves you a little extra just to stand out different
From all those who love you
Because she is an extra ordinary woman
She starves herself so that you may eat a little extra
Because she is an extra ordinary woman
She forgives you all the time
Even when you guilty mind knows you don’t deserve such kindness
Because she is an extra ordinary woman
She may not be the most perfect woman but
She is indeed an extra ordinary woman
She is your mother, your wife, your fiancee, your girlfriend
Your sister, your grandmother and your daughter
You best appreciate her
poem by Grace Mdemu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who is the Best..?
Once there was this Rishi
Living under a banyan tree
Meditating on Him, all his life
Alone, without worries or wife..
It was a sunny day, bit hazy
Rishi was relaxed and lazy
A mouse came running and fell at his feet
A cat came chasing to eat
The mouse prayed 'Gimme shelter or u sin'
The cat said 'Protecting my food is no less a thing'
Rishi had to decide one way or other
Rishi blessed the mouse to be his daughter
The daughter grew into a beautiful woman
Time came for Rishi to think of her man.
He asked the daughter for any criteria or test
She said she wanted only the Best
Best of a man is a Rishi, said the father
Not really so, said the daughter
When Rishi said, better than a Rishi is the only Sun
No, said the daughter, not the burning hot one!
Rishi asked the Sun, if he knows anyone better
The Sun said, try the Cloud, it hides my power
When Rishi told her of the Cloud's valor
No, said the daughter, I hate the dark color
Rishi asked the Cloud, who betters it
The Cloud said, surely the Wind, it blows me out
Rishi asked the daughter, if Wind is her choice
No, said the daughter, It just makes noise.
Rishi asked the Wind, for a better person
The Wind said, It is the immovable Mountain
Rishi asked the daughter, if Mountain passes her test
No, said the daughter, full of trough and crest
Rishi asked the Mountain for the best in the land
The Mountain said, It is the Mouse that crushes it to sand
Rishi asked the daughter, if Mouse is her groom
Yes, said the daughter, I love his eyes that zoom..
Rishi made his daughter back into a mouse
They married and lived in a hole as their house
The Best for a mouse is mouse, for Rishi a Rishi, for crook a crook
It depends on what you look out for; your outlook!
poem by TheBigThinkg Human
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Nursing You
On the first night
of the full moon,
the primeval sack of ocean
broke,
& I gave birth to you
little woman,
little carrot top,
little turned-up nose,
pushing you out of myself
as my mother
pushed
me out of herself,
as her mother did,
& her mother's mother before her,
all of us born
of woman.
I am the second daughter
of a second daughter
of a second daughter,
but you shall be the first.
You shall see the phrase
'second sex'
only in puzzlement,
wondering how anyone,
except a madman,
could call you 'second'
when you are so splendidly
first,
conferring even on your mother
firstness, vastness, fullness
as the moon at its fullest
lights up the sky.
Now the moon is full again
& you are four weeks old.
Little lion, lioness,
yowling for my breasts,
rowling at the moon,
how I love your lustiness,
your red face demanding,
your hungry mouth howling,
your screams, your cries
which all spell life
in large letters
the color of blood.
You are born a woman
for the sheer glory of it,
little redhead, beautiful screamer.
You are no second sex,
but the first of the first;
& when the moon's phases
fill out the cycle
of your life,
you will crow
for the joy
of being a woman,
telling the pallid moon
to go drown herself
in the blue ocean,
& glorying, glorying, glorying
in the rosy wonder
of your sunshining wondrous
self.
poem by Erica Jong
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On the First Night
On the first night
of the full moon,
the primeval sack of ocean
broke,
& I gave birth to you
little woman,
little carrot top,
little turned-up nose,
pushing you out of myself
as my mother
pushed
me out of herself,
as her mother did,
& her mother's mother before her,
all of us born
of woman.
I am the second daughter
of a second daughter
of a second daughter,
but you shall be the first.
You shall see the phrase
'second sex'
only in puzzlement,
wondering how anyone,
except a madman,
could call you 'second'
when you are so splendidly
first,
conferring even on your mother
firstness, vastness, fullness
as the moon at its fullest
lights up the sky.
Now the moon is full again
& you are four weeks old.
Little lion, lioness,
yowling for my breasts,
growling at the moon,
how I love your lustiness,
your red face demanding,
your hungry mouth howling,
your screams, your cries
which all spell life
in large letters
the color of blood.
You are born a woman
for the sheer glory of it,
little redhead, beautiful screamer.
You are no second sex,
but the first of the first;
& when the moon's phases
fill out the cycle
of your life,
you will crow
for the joy
of being a woman,
telling the pallid moon
to go drown herself
in the blue ocean,
& glorying, glorying, glorying
in the rosy wonder
of your sunshining wondrous
self.
poem by Erica Jong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For a Daughter Who Leaves
A woman weaves
her daughter's wedding
slippers that will carry
her steps into a new life.
The mother weeps alone
into her jeweled sewing box
slips red thread
around its spool,
the same she used to stitch
her daughter's first silk jacket
embroidered with turtles
that would bring luck, long life.
She remembers all the steps
taken by her daughter's
unbound quick feet:
dancing on the stones
of the yard among yellow
butterflies and white breasted sparrows.
And she grew, legs strong
body long, mind
independent.
Now she captures all eyes
with her hair combed smooth
and her hips gently
swaying like bamboo.
The woman
spins her thread
from the spool of her heart,
knotted to her daughter's
departing
wedding slippers.
poem by Janice Mirikitani
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