Morning in our Family
Morning in our Family
“Ok, bye Daddy, I’m going”
Floats across the drawing room
From my daughter, dressed in sari.
Blue and greed are SCB colours,
Where she works for last 12 years,
Now looks like a walking Bank!
Very few MBAs stick to same job
Greed impels them, and fear of stagnating,
She is of a different breed!
Money doesn’t matter much to her
She spends freely; gives generously;
Saves minimum; behaves like a non-MBA.
My wife is on the other sofa,
Talking to Zorro and the other cats
By turn, but fond and proud of her daughter.
Joti leaves early in the morning to Bank
Via Gym in Churchgate, and she and wife
Reach back home only after 9 o’clock.
I go to office in the morning, in past
After going to gym or swim or both,
But not now for I seem to overexercise.
poem by Daniel Trevelyn Joseph
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The River
When my wife died I used to walk alone by the river,
but I don’t go near there any more.
Lost souls who had drowned used to speak to me
of the lives they had once before.
Every time I went they asked me to enter the water,
‘It will clear your mind, ’ they said.
I told them that I had never learned how to swim
and drowning is the only thing I dread.
One early morning I was walking along the river-bank
and the bank collapsed beneath my feet.
I found myself being swept along by the raging current
and saw my wife drowning in the deep.
Several of the dead I used to talk with held me under,
my breath expired and I just sank.
My wife pulled me up from the river’s depths
and a fisherman revived me on the bank.
poem by Orlando Belo
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The Bottle Song
The bottle is his only luxury
That he can afford with his own money
He doesn't see anything wrong with it
And others do
Believe it is sad
Because he has a family to support
But insted of doing it he spends all his money on alcohol
He works hard for his money everyday
And not a cent goes to the bank
That is because he feels that the bank will rip him of
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Early In The Morning
Early in the morning and I cant get right
Had a little date with my baby last night
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Now its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to all the places where we used to go
Went to your house but you dont live there no more
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to your friends house but she was out
Knock on your fathers door and he began to shout get out there boy
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Went to doogie chain to get something to eat
Waiter looked at me and said you sure look beat
Now its early in the morning (early in the morning)
Early in the morning (early in the morning)
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
Well its early in the morning
And I aint got nothing but the blues
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Moonlight in Early Morning
I saw the moon in early morning
At five o’clock
Parikesit and Dananjaya
Are riding cycle
To their school building, Pasirlaja
While rentals are gathering
in the corner of my house
Sit for waiting a customer
At that time both of my daughter are sleeping well
make a circle their back on the bed
dreaming a nice day in their school day
till six o’clock they didn’t wake up from their bad
and Parikesit and Danajaya went to school
After while Windy, my youngest daughter wake up and watch the “DORA”, her lovely cartoon in the television show programs,
After walking around, I saw the moonlight in early morning
gradually changed with sunrise moment
I haven’t yet writing down this poetry
To the young generation
poem by Prasetya Utama
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Slipped Away
Good morning son
It's off to school you go
Mom's gone to work you know
Mom when are you coming home
There's a bank robbery that's going on
Ooh this very morn
Mom's gone to wrok for sure
Mom when are you coming home
Officers the bank is being held
By two gunmen that don't mean well
Mom's on the job can't you tell
Mom when are you coming home
Mom when are you coming home
To see your son
Daughter don't be a policeman
Please be a school teacher instead
You're so good with the children
Mom when are you coming home
Teacher please excuse these boys from class
Their mother gone from a gunshot blast
Another cop shot down on patrol
Mom when are you coming home
Mom when are you coming home
To see your son
The gangsters killed our mother dead
All is lost from our family
They tried to save our mom in vain
She drowned in blood and she was not saved
The bank is open and the robbers jailed
And mom won't be coming home
The way they run their world so wrong
How can us brothers get along
Mom when are you coming home
song performed by by G. Love & Special Sauce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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She's Leaving Home
Wednesday morning at five o'clock
As the day begins
Silently closing her bedroom door
Leaving the note that she hoped would say more
She goes downstairs to the kitchen
Clutching her handkerchief
Quietly turning the back door key
Stepping outside she is free
She (we gave her most of our lives)
Is leaving (sacrificed most of our lives)
Home (we gave her everything money could buy)
She's leaving home after living alone for
So many years (bye bye)
Father snores as his wife gets into her dressing gown
Picks up the letter that's lying there
Standing alone at the top of the stairs
She breaks down and cries to her husband
Daddy our baby's gone
Why would she treat us so thoughtlessly
How could she do this to me
She (We never thought of ourselves)
Is leaving (never a thought for ourselves)
Home (we struggled hard all our lives to get by)
She's leaving home after living alone for
So many years (bye bye)
Friday morning at nine o'clock she is far away
Waiting to keep the appointment she made
Meeting a man from the motor trade
She (what did we do that was wrong)
Is having (we didn't know it was wrong)
Fun (fun is the one thing that money can't buy)
Something inside that was always denied for
So many years (bye bye)
She's leaving home (bye bye)
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Good Morning, Good Morning
Nothing to do to save his life call his wife in
Nothing to say but what a day how's your boy been
Nothing to do it's up to you
I've got nothing to say but it's o.k.
Good morning, good morning...
Going to work don't want to go feeling low down
Heading for home you start to roam then you're in town
Everybody knows there's nothing doing
Everything is closed it's like a ruin
Everyone you see is half asleep.
And you're on your own you're in the street
Good morning, good morning...
After a while you start to smile now you feel cool.
Then you decide to take a walk by the old school.
Nothing has changed it's still the same
I've got nothing to say but it's o.k.
Good morning, good morning...
People running round it's five o'clock.
Everywhere in town is getting dark.
Everyone you see is full of life.
It's time for tea and meet the wife.
Somebody needs to know the time, glad that i'm here.
Watching the skirts you start to flirt now you're in gear.
Go to a show you hope she goes.
I've got nothing to say but it's o.k.
Good morning, good morning...
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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A Confession For El Cabir
you have been immersed
in a pond filled with the holiest of all the
purified waters blessed by
all the saints in your mind
by all the angels in your books
yet you are still silenced by your restraints
every morning you stand by your window watching nothing
yes the wind that sweeps away the mahogany leaves
on the roof of the catwalk where no one is walking because the semester
just ended and you have no home to
go
the apartment is another lonely room
it serves you no good
you never had sex there with a stranger
you have been growing money in your bank
and it is giving you more grief
it is not greed, but it is the inability to be open to yourself
and give yourself a break by stepping out of the university and
be
happy,
you have many definitions about what happiness is
and it is a waste of deliberation
alone in your room
where the papers are mute and as usual
dead
do not define happiness
just grab it
be blind
set aside your eyes for a while
have a leaping heart
be a frog
or a reptile, that snake with red lines and black lines alternating on its
scaled belly
or the grasshopper that sings on summer
teasing the ants.
i look at you with scrutiny as i make myself comfortable on that
velvet sofa inside your well kept philosophy office
it is a field of sadness
and i pity you
but what can i do? you are the wise man and i am the loose jackal.
you are shrinking like hell
and i am bloating like heaven.
what a conceit i have? never mind, call me a typographical error
of the university
nevertheless, i must tell you, i am not real.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A College Going Daughter's Prayer
Lord put money in my bank
And I shall call and earnestly thank
Ma who pestered Pa to bend
To her whims and bitterly end
The fight for money in my bank.....
Ma has told him it is less
What she calls the daughter's cess
For panties, knickers and monthly chum
Things so dear they hardly come
With the money in my bank........
My account should always overflow
And on my face there be a glow
I can then, dream to start
To fulfill the desires of my heart
With the money in my bank......
My sisters' told them I am down
With a viral that's profound
I am ill and need to eat
Medicines, cherries, grapes and sweets
With the money in my bank.....
Send me Lord some pleasing news
Of good money I can use
I shall end to feign and faint
Then douse the town in crimson paint
With the money in my bank
2003
poem by Ravinder Malhotra
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On Any Other Day
You want something corny?
You got it
Theres a house on my street
And it looks real neat
Im the chap who lives in it
Theres a tree on the sidewalk
Theres a car by the door
Ill go for a drive in it
And when the wombat comes
He will find me gone
Hell look for a place to sit
My wife has burned the scrambled eggs
The dog just bit my leg
My teenage daughter ran away
My fine young son has turned out gay
Cut off my fingers in the
Door of my car
How could I do it?
My wife is proud to tell me
Of her love affairs
How could she do this to me?
My wife has burned the scrambled eggs
The dog just bit my leg
My teenage daughter ran away
My fine young son has turned out gay
And it would be ok on any other day
And it would be ok on any other day
Throw down the morning papers
And spill my tea
I dont know whats wrong with me
The cups and plates are in a
Conspiracy
Im covered in misery
My wife has burned the scrambled eggs
The dog just bit my leg
My teenage daughter ran away
My fine young son has turned out gay
And it would be ok on any other day
And it would be ok on any other day
And it would be ok on any other day
song performed by by Police
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wish I Was Little Again
when I was a little girl
I was daddy's little angel
he thought I was sent from heaven
he used to pray with me every night
but now
I'm the devil daughter he never wanted
I was meant for hell instead of earth
he acts as if he never wants me around
I'm use to feeling this
try to make em proud
never works, I give up
I wish I was daddy's little angel again
blowing kissing back and forth
laughing when he would take my nose
I want that all back
but now,
I still love him
and somewhere down inside
he loves me too. I hope at least
But now, I will live my life,
wondering why he changed his mind
from his angel daughter
to his devil daughter
in less then a few years
poem by Stephanie MIller
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Mail-Box
As you arrive in the morning
To your office, my dear
And check your mails
Without doubt you know
I’ll be there for you
Waiting to give you
The mail of the day.
May be a poem
Or a prose -
A quote or a photo
That touches me…
And I would wish to
Share with you.
Or as ever before
Like I write everyday
My Diary of yesterday.
You may read in a hurry
As you always do
For you may have
Many other
Errands to run to.
Yet, my dear
Let me say it to you
That all my letters
And words to you
Are written with care
And the precious time
That I love to spend
Writing to you…
It’s been like this
For the past many years
And I hope it would be
For many, many years
When you open your
Mail-Box
And find in it
Amongst all your mails
A letter from me.
Everyday, every morning
For all those years
Till the day you retire
From your daily
Commuting…
To that very same Office
Of your 20 years.
And the day you retire
After your service
Of two decades more
You’ll have some nice
Memories
Of working together
With your colleagues
Many sour ones too
Of those meetings
That failed
Those deadlines
That derailed
And some good savings
Of your life of work
And a repertoire of friends
That stayed with you
Through all these years…
May be in one of those
Bitter-sweet memories
You might remember me
That mail-box girl
Who used to write to you
So very diligently
Every day of her life
To feel close to you
To be as near you
As much as she could
From many miles away
With a lonely, longing heart
And so many words to say.
For she couldn’t be your wife,
Neither your mistress
Nor be at your side
As you struggled and you hobbled
Through your life’s major strifes.
She could only be
A mute witness -
To all what you endured.
She could feel the stresses
And the strains
Of those sleepless nights
That eating outside
Those early morning wake-ups
Of your tours and travels
Like a vagabond
Trying to balance it out
Between work and home.
And they say: You are Married.
Married to your wife
Or your company, I guess.
For most of your time
Is taken away
By those tours
And your travels
Of a working life
Sans your wife
Beside you…
On many such nights
And busy days too
When you would rather
Be a husband to your wife
Than be a work-horse
All your Life.
And slog and slog and slog…
Thinking you are indispensable
For your company.
Yet that day would dawn on you
As it comes for every man
When he realises
That the company whom he
Worked for
Cared for more than his family
That very same company
To survive and thrive
In this world of the Fittest
Goes seeking young-blood
And leaves you aside.
And at the end of the day
You then do realise
Was it really worth
Giving those extra hours
Everyday
To your office over-time
And missing out on
Your wife’s
Diary for the Day
Or all what your son
Had to Say
To a Daddy-Dear
He could hardly get to see.
As a friend of yours,
A well-wisher too
And in this one of my
Many mails
That I write everyday
To you…
I would suggest you:
Take care of your wife
Be with your son
For these are the days
You would miss very often
When you grow old
And look back
In retrospection
And find that those
Glorious days you spent
Upgrading your career
Position and status
In the Office.
Those will go one day
And someone else
Would take your place
And the company would
Still survive without you
As it has done
With people coming and going
In all such big MNCs
Yet once your wife
Grows old
And your son grows up too,
You’ll miss these “good old” days
When you missed seeing your son
Growing up
Into the young lad
He would become one day.
And your wife would also feel
As If -
She has grown too old, too soon
For neither youth was on her side
Nor the time
She wished to cherish
With you, in her conjugal life.
So her youth and her time
Both awaited you
As the hope of life
Awaits a dying woman
On her Death-Bed.
As for me, My Love
I’ve never had the Fate
To live with you
And would probably never have
The Destiny
To share with you
My Life.
And yet, the woman out there
Your betrothed wife
Is a woman like me
And your son out there
Is also like the son
I’ve borne in me…
So, I would always love you
To have a happy family
Take care of them, my love
And be with them
As often as you can.
For a job may come,
A job may go…
Yet a wife once lost
Or a son gone forever
Won’t come back to you
However much you repent
Or regret
Later on…
Thinking of the Whys and Hows
Of the jobs that you did
The tours and the travels
And the over-time
Your company Fixed
For you.
Always Remember…
You are married to your wife
And not to your company.
And your son needs
The “Daddy-Dear” in you
Even if he may not tell you
Often, every day.
So Care, Share
And Be There
For Them…
Trust Me – You’ll get many more returns
And far more contentment
As you look back
Over the years…
Of all those precious moments
You spent with your family
Than going for power, position
Fame and money
And being a lap-dog to your Company
By running after them.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Soldier’s Wife
Let’s go out
In this cold city
Let me feel
The warmth here
The beloved daughter
As
I am going tomorrow
And who knows
The dinner
Out in the restaurant
A nearby photographer
In uniform
My laurels and stars
I fight for my country
I am a proud soldier
Daughter in his arms
The wife proud
Veil pushed back
So the soldier's family
I found this
In a room
A barrack
Of the soldier
Looked at the photograph
Of thousand hopes
The soldier’s bag
His laurels and stars
The soldier was dead
His laurels and stars
His thousand hopes
What is my fault?
Asked his daughter
And mine too
Asked his wife
His laurels and stars
For the soldier is dead
poem by Sadiqullah Khan
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It's So Nice To Be Home
Isn't it nice to be home again
Sitting around the fire with family and friends
Isn't it nice to be home again
It's so nice to be home
My little daughter's sleeping
And the boy is all right
My wife is so lovely
I'll love her tonight
Looking out the window at a new moon’s light
It's so nice to be home
I took old Blue out hunting on a Saturday
We didn't get home until the middle of May
A freaky winter storm went and blocked our way
Old Blue he kept me thinking and a talking 'bout you
And when Blue got down
I’d talk about Bobby and Sue
Together we did what we had to do
To get back home to you
It's so nice to be home.
poem by Steven Sabathie
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Greed..
Greed will make you hurngry
you'll never get enough...
it can tear a life apart
Greed is nasy stuff..
don't get greedy - don't be greedy
once you let yoursef be greedy
you can't go back again...
(i'm telling ya man...)
i know a man named Jessy
his Grandma was sitting good..
he set out to win her turst
and take everything he could..
he got greedy
he was greedy..
Jessy let himself get greedy
And He can't go back again...
Greed turns family on family
makes a friend the enemy
it can turn you on your Grandma
blinding you so you can't see..
it will turn you on your parents..
and tear your world apart..
there's no way you can change it
once you let it in your heart..
don't be greedy
don't get greedy..
once you let yoursef be greedy
you can't go back again...
once someone has been cheated
or swindeled it's a shame
greed will leave them cold and Angry
with only You to blame....
no one will ever trust you
trust gets burried in the past..
you're better of financialy'
but money it won't last..
don't get greedy don't be greedy
once you let yourself be greedy
you can't go back again...
once greed becomes a partner
and all is said and done..
when your lookin down at a grave...
can you really feel you won?
you now have more than others
you worked hard to steal it all..
others may have earned it but
your the one who made that call..
no one thought you'd do it
it never crossed their mind..
they trusted that you would be fair
but that was once upon a time...
you let yoursef get greedy,
you got greedy
And once you let yourself be greedy
you can't go back again....
someday you'll miss your sister
your parents and cousins too..
the black sheep of the family
will turn a lonesome blue...
don't be greedy, don't get greedy
once you let yourself be greedy
you can't go back again...
poem by Connetta Jean
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Early Morning Breeze
I open up my door to greet the early morning sun
Closing it behind me and away I do run
To the meadow where the meadow lark is singing in the tree
In the meadow I go walking in the early morning breeze
I cup my hands to catch a multi-colored butterfly
Perched upon the petals of flowers growing wild
Freeing it I watch it as it flies away from me
To visit with the flowers in the early morning breeze
Chorus:
Rainbow colored flowers kissed with early morning sun
The aster and the dahlia and wild geraniums
Drops of morning due still linger on the iris leaves
In the meadow where Im walking in the early morning breeze
Misty-eyed I look about the meadow where I stray
For its there I find the courage to greet the coming day
For there among the flowers I kneel gently to my knees
To have a word with God in the early mornig breeze
2nd chorus:
A rainbow colored meadow kissed with early morning sun
The aster and the dahlia and wild geraniums
Drops of morning due still linger on the iris leaves
In the meadow where Im walking in the early morning breez
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mr. Shoemaker's Daughter
Hey, mr. shoemaker's daughter,
Hey, mr. shoemaker's daughter,
Don't throw my love away.
I'm coming home today.
Hey, mr. green grocer's daughter,
Hey, mr. green grocer's daughter,
Don't turn your head away.
Don't take the sun away.
Every time i see you i wanna say "hey".
But every time you see me you walking away from me.
I've been gone for such a long, long time,
But i'm coming home, gonna make you mine.
Hey, mr. cake baker's daughter,
Hey, mr. bread baker's daughter,
I'm coming home today.
Don't hide the world[?] away.
Every time i see you i wanna say "hey".
But every time you see me you walking away from me.
I've been gone for such a long, long time,
But i'm coming home, gonna make you mine.
How is that fresh morning feeling?
How is the dawn and the evening?
I will be free today.
Hey, mr. shoemaker's daughter,
Hey, mr. shoemaker's daughter,
I'll see you soon today.
Hey, mr. dress maker's daughter,
Hey, mr. green seller's daughter,
Don't throw my love away.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Worries
my wife worries
about the dream that
i told her about
this early morning while
we are taking breakfast
it is all about a boat
alone
waiting on the bank
of the river
under a shade of trees
on filtered light
through the leaves
it worries her to know
that somehow soon
we shall be that boat's
passengers
that accommodate only
one of us
and not both
the other side has no name
but it is a place so certain
and acceptable
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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