Wing Pages Of The Butterfly
at the nursery
while people
are at purchase
and at transactions
a blue butterfly
comes by
and opens its pages to me
swift and quick
and it says to me:
'Read! Read!
Read my pages! '
'I can’t read, '
I say,
amused
at this brash butterfly
'Read and write!
Read and write
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poem by Raj Arumugam
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Sleep, Tender Heart
sleep, tender heart
sleep like a fairy between petals;
sleep like a koala
safe and sound
concealed amongst leaves
sleep, gentle mind
like the innocent newborn
without a thought or care;
sleep like the moon
that crawls to its quiet
on the advent of the sun
sleep like the waves
that crawl to a lagoon
and still themselves for peace and rest
sleep, O gentle souls
and all you beautiful beings
sleep like the pervading stillness
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poem by Raj Arumugam
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Broom Poem
a history of the broom
a short one, or long
will see us down on the floors
in the streets and the corners;
a little excursion to the theaters
of farce and wayward husbands
beaten by outraged wives;
and if we included this poem
in this sweep of history
I hope a poem with a broom
does not fire the same ignorance
as beliefs did
conjuring women with brooms
supposed witches who flew in the sky…
you burned them, remember?
and you would again, given half the chance
poem by Raj Arumugam
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Shakespeare's Marriage
SHAKESPEARE'S MARRIAGE
November 1582
William Shagspere,18
of Stratford
marries
Anne Hathwey,26
Of Shottery
and six months later
the timer bell
at the oven rings
and out pops a fine young baby -
lovely Susanna
OK, time for village gossips
to exercise their tongues
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poem by Raj Arumugam
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the crowd laughs at Nasrudin
See
Nasrudin is in the streets
he rides his donkey;
and see,
the people are in the streets
and the men and women point to Nasrudin
and they laugh;
and the children run behind Nasrudin's donkey
and they roll in the sand
and they laugh at Donkey;
and the youth
throw some old cups
at Nasrudin's donkey and they laugh
and see
Nasrudin sees all this
and he says to them:
Yes, you may see the humor;
but I don't think you see the irony
I was going to go off after the last poem
poem by Raj Arumugam
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would you lend some money to Nasrudin...?
Nasrudin comes to a new town
and he goes to a store
and he asks the owner:
How’s business, Sir?
Business is good, replies the store-owner
Oh, then, can I borrow ten dollars?
asks Nasrudin
I hardly know you, says the store-owner
I can’t lend you any money
Oh, how strange, says Nasrudin
In my town they won’t lend me any money
because they say, they know me too well -
and here you won’t lend me any money
because you don’t know me!
It’s a strange world we live in.
poem by Raj Arumugam
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Our Obedient, Respectful Daughter
our daughter
if nothing else
is so respectful
of her elders and so,
consequently,
she is obedient
why, just the other day
her teacher asks
in Nature revision:
What do you call the outside of a tree?
and my little girl so honest
which is something else she is
confesses her ignorance
Bark, Susan
says the teacher
offering the answer;
and Susan
ever obedient and respectful
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poem by Raj Arumugam
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I Don’t Understand Mom And Dad
I don’t understand Mom and Dad
how come Dad can do things
and I’m not allowed
like Dad can drink beer
but I’m not allowed
I asked mom “How come Dad can drink
and I’m not allowed? ”
And Mom said:
“Cos it doesn’t make a difference in his case”
But I don't get it, Mom!
and the other day
I asked Mom if I could join
Dad in the deep end of the pool
and Mom said “No”
and I said “How come Dad can do it? ”
and Mom says
“Cos Dad’s got insurance”
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poem by Raj Arumugam
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What Is Pleasant And What Is Painful
what is pleasant
what gives pleasure
the mind records memory of;
what is painful
what gives discomfort
that too
the mind records memory of;
and the mind learns to crave for one
and to recoil from the other
and so our lives are formed
from every pleasure, from every comfort
and every choice we make;
there is nothing there in our lives
but craving and recoiling
and the mind that sees this conditioning
that mind is free of traps
that mind is free of memory
it recognizes the way it is made to operate
poem by Raj Arumugam
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I’m So Proud Of My Murali Boy
I’m so proud of my son Murali
cos he’s always thinking smart
and efficient
I asked him the other day:
“Sonny boy
dear Murali
What’d you like to be
when you grow up? ”
And he says to me:
“I’ll be a garbage collector, Daddy”
And I say to him:
“O my dear boy -
why a garbage collector
of all the jobs? ”
And my little boy Murali
says, smart as he always is:
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