The Song Of The Dedicated Househelp
in London
and in Italy
the domestic
housekeeper
(euphemism
for Filipino maid)
sings
her song:
cleaning another
person's house
taking care of
another mother's kids
cooking for
the master
mopping their lawns
dusting their
carpets
wiping their
furniture
washing their
dirty clothes
all for the money
in her home country
her son has become
a drug addict,
her house sinks
in the water
there is no food in
the refrigerator
her husband is living
with another younger
woman
her papa is sick with
cancer
her mama is dead
she sends money
for the casket and
the wake
she prays some more
for her daughter
in school
in London
in Italy
she is not
a human being
in Hongkong
and in Singapore
some of them
become crazy
and kill their
master's kids
(who knows?)
the news headlines
says
Pinoy househelp
hangs herself
in the bathroom
another one jumps
from the 15th floor
crashing to the
ground
like a crushed
watermelon
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Dusts
she is a woman fond of cleaning
dust and dirt and
almost everything that
makes this house dirty
or herself, her hands
her clothes and the
furniture that she keeps
on dusting
almost everyday
she slides her fingers
on the table and screens
the surface for dusts
and she thinks
this world must
be free
from dusts
she keeps dusting and dusting
and tonight
she sleeps
deep into
a slumber where
she does not wake up
anymore
she turns to dust
and the wind blows her away at last
poem by Antonio Liao
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Scrub, Scrub, Rub-a dub dub
Scrub, scrub, rub-a-dub, dub
cleaning is such a chore.
Scrub, scrub, rub-a-dub, dub
cleaning's such a bore.
Washing, dusting every day,
seems there is no end.
I know that when I'm finished
it will start all over again.
Windows, floors and kitchen sinks
just can't seem to stay clean.
The kids go out. The kids come in
and there's the same old scene.
Wash the clothes. Let them dry.
Put them on to wear.
Before the day is over
there's a spot that wasn't there.
Scrub, scrub, rub-a-dub dub
when will it ever stop?
If I could find those rub-a dub men
I'd gladly give them my mop.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Togetherness Is Gone
My wife,
Stop cleaning the house
Please come here
To accompany me
My husband,
The house is dirty
We aren't able to pay the maid
You've already retired
My wife,
Don't cook
It's a holiday
Let us eat outside the home
My husband,
Don't eat outdoors
We need efficient
You've already retired
My wife,
Let's keep me company
Why the rush to sleep
It's still early
My husband,
I have to get up early
To clean the house
And prepare breakfast
My wife,
I have to go this morning
My friends were waiting
Long we don't meet
My husband,
Be careful on the road
Greetings for your friends
But, why not breakfast?
My wife,
You have fallen asleep last night
I see you sleeping soundly all
I don't have the heart to wake you
My husband,
I'm sorry
I don't welcome you home
But, why should sleep on the sofa?
My wife,
I have to go again
I have social activities
With my old friends
My husband,
Don't forget dinner at home
You look very dapper
Although not wear perfume
My wife,
sorry, we were very busy
I had dinner with friends
Happy dinner, dear
My husband,
I woke up too early
But you're not at home
Where are you?
My wife,
I came home at midnight
I have to go early in the morning
I don't have the heart to wake you
My husband,
I just finished washing clothes
I've found the clothes that you wear today
But, why the smell of perfume?
poem by Hasanudin Sofyan
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Kyrie, mass in c. k 427, Mozart
Papa is dead.
He is following mama.
His coffin is white
And shiny
Very much like
That of mama
In kyrie
The soprano
Sings for papa
In the church
For his last
Day today.
All seems to be white.
Pure, o they were
Purely in love
When they were
Alive, they always
Quarrel, papa kicks
Mama and mama
Bites him in return
They seem not to
Endure each other’s
Presence and each
Would want to
Kill each other.
Mama died first
And papa takes
Her picture and
Keeps it in his
Pocket and he
(mind you)
cries all night
papa loved mama
mama loved papa
after all.
Listen to the song
Of kyrie
Amadeus Mozart
A hymn for the
Dead who cannot endure
Each other when
They were once alive.
Until now, it is something
That I cannot understand.
I listen to kyrie
The soprano taking us to the tip of the mountain
Her human voice
Topping my puzzlement of it all
Why in death, why after death,
We realize the person that we miss
When he is gone, we say we love him most.
Papa loved mama after all
We loved papa after all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Petite
I met this petite lady
she was still on her second year
of a nursing course
when her aunt retired as domestic helper
in bakau
she had to take over
the employer paid for her passport and documentation
she works there for two years
vacuuming carpets
washing dishes
dusting off walls and windows
taking care of a baby
and sometimes cooks for visitors
she is round
and will do everything just to earn
her money
and please her parents
back home
she is 25, too young to be a family bread
winner
and an export labor
a heroine for another
locally written novel
she has her boyfriend back in mandaue waiting
but he could not meet her at the airport
her parents do not want her to marry
the jobless
Pinoy
'home for good', she says when she bids us
goodbye
deep inside me
i wish her independence
i know that happiness
is too elusive
but anyway i wish her that
too
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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About Mama and Papa on Those Crucial Times...
the last day was crucial
it was excruciating,
i saw papa kicked mama
and mama fell down the
path
she was moving out from home
she could not take him anymore
everything was over
practically, , ,
the dogs barked
hating papa
they perhaps thought
he was a total stranger in
his own house
and they do not recognize
him as their
master anymore...
i walked away from home
on that crucial day
i did not want to know
what happened after
i heard papa died in
all pain
you told me that there was
that inevitable conclusion
that papa never loved mama
despite their five children
and 50 years...
i never believed you
i decided never to believe you
i believed that face in the mirror
half is papa's
the other half is mama's
how can there be two of them in me
if they never really loved each other?
they were sick and tired
those were the reasons
they forgot
that was the cause...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Clothes Line
After a while we took in the clothes,
Nobody said very much.
Just some old wild shirts and a couple pairs of pants
Which nobody really wanted to touch.
Mama come in and picked up a book
An papa asked her what it was.
Someone else asked, what do you care?
Papa said, well, just because.
Then they started to take back their clothes,
Hang em on the line.
It was january the thirtieth
And everybody was feelin fine.
The next day everybody got up
Seein if the clothes were dry.
The dogs were barking, a neighbor passed,
Mama, of course, she said, hi!
Have you heard the news? he said, with a grin,
The vice-presidents gone mad!
Where? downtown. when? last night.
Hmm, say, thats too bad!
Well, theres nothin we can do about it, said the neighbor,
Its just somethin were gonna have to forget.
Yes, I guess so, said ma,
Then she asked me if the clothes was still wet.
I reached up, touched my shirt,
And the neighbor said, are those clothes yours?
I said, some of em, not all of em.
He said, ya always help out around here with the chores?
I said, sometime, not all the time.
Then my neighbor, he blew his nose
Just as papa yelled outside,
Mama wants you t come back in the house and bring them clothes.
Well, I just do what Im told,
So, I did it, of course.
I went back in the house and mama met me
And then I shut all the doors.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oh! My Mama, Happy Mother's Day!
Oh! My mama, happy mother’s day
You are the greatest mother I have ever had
You are my mother today
You will be my mother tomorrow
You are always my mother
You will forever be my mother
Thank you my mother for bringing me into this world
Thank you my mother for taking care of me in your womb
Thank you my mother caring for me as a toddler
Thank you my mother for feeding me since I was a baby
Thank you my mother for all the clothes you bought for me
Thank you my mother for teaching me good manners at home
Thank you my mother for sending me to school
Thank you my mother for supervising my homework
Thank you my mother for ensuring I eat before going to school
Thank you my mother for all the regular pocket money
Thank you my mother for liking my friends
Thank you my mother for all the everyday advices
My mother always remind me that fingers are not equal
As I grow up, I have seen the correlation of this analogy
To many human beings, neighbors, societies and nationalities
Oh! My mama, thank you for your words of wisdom
My mother taught me many things that I have never read in books
Thank you my mother for all your guiding philosophies
Oh! My mama, I sincerely wish everyday could be Mother’s Day
One day in a year is not enough to thank my wonderful mother
Oh! My mama, I will forever be your child
Oh! My mama, you will eternally be my mother
Thank you my mother for being my best friend
Thank you my mother for being my trusted adviser
I honestly wish you HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!
poem by Julius Babarinsa
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Oh! My Mama, Happy Mother's Day!
Oh! My mama, happy mother's day
You are the greatest mother I have ever had
You are my mother today
You will be my mother tomorrow
You are always my mother
You will forever be my mother
Thank you my mother for bringing me into this world
Thank you my mother for taking care of me in your womb
Thank you my mother caring for me as a toddler
Thank you my mother for feeding me since I was a baby
Thank you my mother for all the clothes you bought for me
Thank you my mother for teaching me good manners at home
Thank you my mother for sending me to school
Thank you my mother for supervising my homework
Thank you my mother for ensuring I eat before going to school
Thank you my mother for all the regular pocket money
Thank you my mother for liking my friends
Thank you my mother for all the everyday advices
My mother always remind me that fingers are not equal
As I grow up, I have seen the correlation of this analogy
To many human beings, neighbors, societies and nationalities
Oh! My mama, thank you for your words of wisdom
My mother taught me many things that I have never read in books
Thank you my mother for all your guiding philosophies
Oh! My mama, I sincerely wish everyday could be Mother's Day
One day in a year is not enough to thank my wonderful mother
Oh! My mama, I will forever be your child
Oh! My mama, you will eternally be my mother
Thank you my mother for being my best friend
Thank you my mother for being my trusted adviser
I honestly wish you HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!
poem by Bikramjyoti Kashyop
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The Sad House
the children are locked inside the house
if they go out once again
they shall be chained like dogs
once the hyperactive one
fell from the window
but its bones are strong and it knew how to land
like a cat
on the hard floor
spoiled kids says the mother
who is out of the house most of the time
they deserve punishment
says the father who is sick with lung cancer
stuffed toys
these kids without necks
they were never allowed to play
they have to go direct
to become
cruel men later
and no one is to blame
no one.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Money
Money is the root of all evil,
Money was blessed by the devil,
Money, money can kill,
Money can cheat, steal…
Ask the disbarred lawyer,
What this sad creature
Can do: It can commit suicide,
Money, money can divide,
Money is not what you think it is,
Having money is not going to put you really at ease,
On the contrary, you’ll have fewer friends,
And more creatures showing their hands,
Claws, guns and deadly weapons.
Money will not send you to the heavens,
Money, money is dirty and evil;
Money is a sick devil.
Money and women don’t mix,
Just like alcohol and driving.
Having hush money is not a quick fix,
But a dangerous way to go down the ravine.
Money is not what you think it is,
Having money is not going to put you really at ease.
Money exists to be spent:
To buy food, clothes, and to pay the rent.
Be careful with money,
Money is not a faithful honey.
poem by Hebert Logerie
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Money
Money money money
Everybody wants some
No money church can't run
Money for this
Money for that
No life without it
Can't sleep
She says hell
In this house
If she don't get it!
Before you get paid
Taxman grab it
Buy something
He grab it again
When money pressure hit
You cannot afford to get sick
Doctors want some
And if you dead without it
You will not be buried
Not even in the sticks
Money money money
It's like blood
It's the way world runs
Need money for food
Need money for fun
If you have no money
Blood a go run
Man join the army
To get some of it
Would be alive
If he had it
Money money money
Where is the money?
Have to get money
Before the day is done
Donkey cough
When you are broke
No money
Donkey don't eat
Everything stops
Earth can't turn
Have to have money
Even some to burn
Money money money
Where did it go?
Pocket is empty
And I just got paid
Maybe my woman took it
Thought I had it made
Thought I had a hundred
But I don't have twenty
Now I am in trouble
I have to leave yard
But I can't leave
If I don't have any
What a thing this is
Money! money! money!
Eh!
12/4/09
poem by Buxton Shippy
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Money
Money
Money
Money
Important
Useful
Necessary
Money
Money
Money
Wealthy
Middle
Poverty
Money
Money
Money
Save
Give
Spend
Money
Money
Borrow
Lend
Money
Money
Foe
Friend
Money
Money
Master
Slave
Money
Money
Satisfied
Crave
Money
Money
Laugh
Cry
MoneyMoney
Live
Die
Money
Money
Sick
Well
Money
Money
Heaven
Hell
poem by Howard Simon
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To All Future Husbands
No matter
How much
I educate
My daughter,
If she's not
A good cook
Nor a good
Whore to you
In bed, you
Wouldn't fancy her.
It's the age of
Equality.
If you want your
Wife to work
And bring in
Money…
Why not ask
Your mothers
To teach you
Some cooking
And cleaning
So you can
Share the
Housework.
Instead of being
Brought up
To think
That no matter,
How much
Your wife
Works…
She'll always be
Up and ready,
To do all the
Serving…
And you, the
Lord of the house,
The most deserving,
Unflurried by the fact
That - to be the lady
Of the house, being
A mother, a wife,
A daughter-in-law,
Is Oh! So! Nerve-wracking,
So very tiring, for a woman
Working…
(Theme: Message)
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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In My City
In my city the sky can cry all night;
In my city the streets can whine all night;
In my city people die all the time;
In my city, boi, in my city...
In my city, boi, God is forgotten;
people follow religion, their minds are rotten.
People kill for money, die 'cause of money,
banks spend our money, and find it funny.
Kids drink till they forget, they forget till they drink;
it's Apocalypse now, we're way past the brink...
it's a theatrical city, everyone's an actor,
everyone's waitin for next great disaster.
'I would kill for a phone' ain't just an expression,
it's more of a statement - kids full of agression.
kids full of the city, like the city's full of kids,
but they're workin on it - they're killin all the kids...
In my city the sky can cry all night;
In my city the streets can whine all night;
In my city people die all the time;
In my city, boi, in my city...
I'm a Silesian boy who moved to Tottenham,
I'm a Tottenham boy who'll always love London,
I'm a London boy who's Silesia-born,
and my people will be free - so go on, sound the horn!
Exile like Chopin, likewise keeps hoping,
Exile from Home, but somehow I'm coping...
I wasn't bought or sold, jus brought and told
you're gonna study here, and live here - be bold!
so I let my heart turn cold, f- it, why care?
carin never really got us anywhere...
nothing's holdin me back, so come and hold me back,
I ain't no ref, but I change the rules like Shaq.
it's time to speak of feelin, son, you're insecure,
that's why you want the finest chic, but she ain't the cure,
you want the fastest cars, you want the longest chain,
but none of that bulls- will take away the pain...
poem by Patryk Krzywon
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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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Looking Back On Today
30th of April seems like yesterday
bought a house above the ocean where
our kids could laugh and play
i called u from paris to tell you that i
wrote our names on the observation deck
of the Eiffel Tower
Reamember those nights playing "summer wind"
on the jukebox of the bar where we used to go
we made out in the bathroom
and you walked me to my house
i tried to convince you not to go home
if only i had more time
i'd take u where u wanted to go
Italy isnt the same without you here
if only i had one wish
id want a million trillion lifetimes
that i could spend with you
id fall in love with you again and again
1st of novemeber 1998
i was thinking of what to say when i would call
denice come over to my house cause youre the one for me
well drink cheap whine and watch for shooting stars
song performed by by Ataris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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London Boys
Cow bell strikes another night
Your eyes are heavy and your limbs all ache
You've bought some coffee, butter and bread
You can't make a thing cause the meter's dead
You moved away
Hold your folks you're gonna stay away
Bright lights, Soho, Wardour street
You hope you make friends with the guys that you meet
Somebody shows you round
Now you've met the London boys
Things seem good again, someone cares about you
Oh, the first time that you tried a pill
You feel a little queasy, decidedly ill
You're gonna be sick, but you mustn't lose faith
To let yourself down would be a big disgrace
With the London boys, with the London boys
You're only seventeen, but you think you've grown
In the month you've been away from your parents' home
You take the pills too much
You don't give a damn about that jobs you've got
So long as you're with the London boys
A London boy, oh a London boy
Your flashy clothes are your pride and joy
A London boy, a London boy
You think you've had a lot of fun
But you ain't got nothing, you're on the run
It's too late now, cause you're out there boy
You've got it made with the rest of the toys
Now you wish you'd never left your home
You've got what you wanted but you're on your own
With the London boys
Now you've met the London boys
Now you've met the London boys
Now you've met the London boys
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Money Money Song
Money money
Is going to get me a girl
Money money
I am going to use it to buy me a cup of coffee
Money money
Is going to take me to Paris
Money money
Is going to buy me some new clothes
Money money
I am going to use it to do my laundry
Momey money
Is going to buy me some groceries
Money money
Is going to pay to fix my house
Money money
Is going to send me to the rich men's world
Money money is going to buy me a cellular phone
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Maid
After a decade
Of housekeeping
When housework
Seemed like
Clock-work
Never-ending
The more you
Clean
The more
It piles up
For
Another
Clean…
I finally have a
Maid
Who helps me
Every week.
A luxury
I couldn't
Afford
In the past
Years
As the
Cost of
Living
In the UK
Is so high.
Now,
That she
Takes care
Of my
Home
And I
Pay her
Well -
For all the
Cleaning…
I should
Feel happy,
Shouldn't I?
I have more
Time…
For myself
And my
Family.
But why
Do I
Feel so
Guilty?
The Work
I didn't
Like doing
She does it
All for the
Money
She needs
To feed
Her family
Of four
Children.
The mother
In me
Doesn't
Quite
Relish
Seeing
This -
Another
Mother
Work
So hard
And do
Odd jobs
Such as
Cleaning
People's
Toilets
And baths.
We find it
So uneasy
To clean
Our own.
Money
Makes
A slave of you
You like it
Or not,
To feed
Four
Hungry
Bellies,
You have to
Clean
Other people's
Homes.
The Question
Remains:
Should I be
Feeling
Happy
About
Giving her
Employment
And giving
Myself
Some respite
From the
Daily
Drudgery
Of house-keeping?
Or should I be
Feeling uneasy
About the fact
That she's also
A woman like me
A mother like me
A human like me
Yet she works
So hard for
Money…
The kind of jobs
I would abhor
To do…
She does it
With a smile
To keep her
Employers
Happy…
As she knows
If she
Loses her
Job, her
Children
Will be so
Unhappy.
(Poem themed on Dilemma)
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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