Sometimes the weight of waiting
Overwhelms me down to despair
When the world is moving so fast
My waiting feels like wasting time
When the winter season lingers long
When dry, decay, death dance dread
My soul becomes weary wanting out
When questions remain unanswered
Inviting more pain, doubt, desolations
Waiting feels like a slow stuckness
When I turn my eyes toward my heart
I notice the yeast rising in the darkness
Slowly, unhurried, directed by stillness
Time is transformed becoming a midwife
No longer the hurried fast train conductor
I settle slowly into an unfamiliar rhythm
Into a divine soul adjusted time
Inviting me to come in step by step
Deeper deeper into the dark night
Only when I surrender to waiting
Only then I see the distant light
Sep 17, 2020
Sep 17, 2020 at 7:50 AM UTC
Like so many hundreds that day
He eventually reached his destination
The European shores of refuge
Dressed in his Sunday best
ready for Church in his new land
We stood by with our global media
to welcome him at the water’s edge
but he would not speak as usual
his mum said he was a shy boy
Still we clicked our cameras
beamed our global images
and moved on to the next story
He lay there alone – black and blue
watched by a policeman - unsure
how to handle this crime scene
not sure if it’s in his jurisdiction
a foreign child washed up
on the water’s edge
spewed out of the ocean belly
rejected twice – at home and in the sea
The meticulous autopsy revealed
that he had a swollen head
still full of grandiose stories and lies
told by his mum every night
fantasy stories that kept him warm as she dragged him
walking mile after mile after mile like weary soldiers
In his heart he carried memories of a new country
where he would be free of fear, have food to eat
be able to play with his sister - not worry that
his neighbourhood would be shelled again
He boarded the rickety boat – head held high
pretending to be a brave young man - even though
he was terrified of water and unable to swim
I sit at home in my warm sofa watching the news
thinking how cruel this mother could be
to put her child through a horror such as this
how could she make a child walk for miles and miles
how could she put him on an unsafe overloaded boat
how could she act illegally and so irresponsibly
I sit at home in my warm sofa watching the news
thinking why Europe needs to be burdened with Syrians
thinking why rich Arab countries will not take in their own
thinking why Christian countries have to give home to
Muslim fundamentalists opposed to the teachings of Christ
When I’m done with dose my self-righteous thinking
a child shows up on my flat screen TV
washed up on a lonely shore
I switch off the TV but his image haunts my dream
I see a Syrian child - head held high
walking out of the icy Mediterranean sea
leading a band of desperate children – exhausted, broken
scared, starving, smiling with renewed hope
My dream seems to end like the deMille classic
the Egyptian chariots sink into the bottom of the sea
The children are free in the land of milk and honey
Only this time, from the promised land of refuge
a thousand chariots or more come rumbling down
along train tracks, cargo vans and police trucks
rounding up children to transit camps
where death is sure
for a hundred, thousand
six million more
Stanley Arumugam
13 Sept 2015
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 2:50 AM UTC
The First Apostle
Did you know your calling?
When He first met you
Demonized-Prostitute
Transformed by His healing hand
Your love-turned passion
Inseparably bound to his being
Scorned for your lavish yearning
Prophetically anointing perfume-blood
Head to hands to dusty broken feet
Your walk with Him closer to death
The rugged weight of dry wood
Heavy heart anointed in knowing tears
You stood by his side-abandoned
By pharisaical disciples cowards call
His love grafted into bone and sinew
The empty mocking tomb
Like your barren heart
Devoid-all you lived for
Rudely taken away
Then He touches you again
With glorious anointing
Head to heart to weary feet
With apostolic "Go-Tell" command
Demonized-Prostitute
Apostle-Evangelist
Stanley Arumugam
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 2:55 PM UTC
Like a Lover hiding a special gift
He leads me – eyes closed on a winding road
I want to peep – just to know – to be sure
He tells me to trust him – not to open my eyes
After a while its not fun anymore – my anticipation
Is replaced with ritual and boredom – distracted
By the gift I neglect the Giver that is with me
When I’m tired we stop – he feeds me when I’m hungry
My feet is strengthened – I rest in a shady place
I know He walks beside me- yet I murmur and moan
I am a child of the nation he walked with ages ago
I ask the same childish questions
Are we there yet; Can’t we stay here
Do we have to go on; Can’t we go back home
Patiently he leads me on
My legs ache more than my heart
We climb higher and higher still
My heart faintly remembers why
Were on this journey in the first place
It was I in ******* that cried out
For his salvation
He heard, he came and he rescued me
We escaped mighty armies
Lived in divine provision – enjoyed protection
I was living in the land of milk and honey
Then he calls me to move again
A cloud of witness by day
A pillar of fire by night
I long for fine gold and garlic
Suddenly the sound of Pharoah’s burdens seem light
I could live with his whips on my bruised back
The shame, the scorn, the drudgery matters less now
Then I had security, shelter, food, work
Even though I was settled in a foreign land
Yet my heart yearned for something more
Something unknown - When I desired this yearning for what could be
The bread and meat of slavery was not enough
I had a vision of more awaiting me- the more
Promised to my father’s – an inheritance to be claimed
I was to be a king and priest – not bonded slave
I was to be the image of God – not a platonic shadow in a cave
Great, mighty, blessed to be a blessing
I was to be like a million stars lighting the sky
Now I walk with flimsy sandals
Tired legs, weary heart, torn dressing
Faithfully following my Lovers leading
When my mind is still – He speaks
Assuring me that all will be well with my soul
He will never leave me or reject me
I am His bought with a price more than silver
Gold or the galaxies of the heavens
I am His special possession purchased before time
Lost and found through His grace
I am His beloved – the apple of his eye
As I still my mind – He speaks
Above the distracting noise of success
Into the drowning noise of fear
He speaks of fresh hope – manna for today
As I listen in – I hear
The sound of still waters, the smell of fragrant lilies
The summer breeze on my skin, the softness of his hand
Holding me – leading me and when the moment is right
He asks me to slowly open my eyes and see
With the delightful anticipation of a long lost lover
He looks at me – sensitive to my every response
I look with blurry eyes - then slowly start to see
We’re standing on a mountaintop
In – between land and sea and sky
Colours collide in cosmic chorus
Birds sing in tune, waves crashing cymbals
The mountains thunder in praise
Heavens pour down with refreshing rain
My tears of joy and utter awe melt my tired heart
He embraces me tenderly – touching me – teaching me
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC
Treading on toothpicks
thinking about tomorrow
time teases
tired tadpoles
trying to transform
trains transporting
transparent travellers
to tall tin trees
typed at Teatime
ty Tismee T
Tetit?
Time: To-o-to TM
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 5:18 PM UTC
Help me read between the lines
To see the whole - not just the parts
To understand your wisdom ways
that speak parables and paradox
If I could but grasp the difference
between temporal and eternal
I'd listen out for the story within
Words unspoken - meaning found
Treasure hidden in sacred sound
Stanley Arumugam
28th May 2012
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
I write what I cannot speak
Words - held captive
in the depths of my soul
slowly, silently, suffocating
Words - I'm afraid of saying out loud
Words - hiding my heart desires
my fears, my despair, my hope
I know this to be true
when they are heard by others
They will be judged
I will be judged
I've learned this over time
It's safest to keep my words
imprisoned - out of sight
in the dungeons
of my soul
But they keep crying out
needing to be heard
Crying out in the still of the night
Words - heard only by me
It's in these moments
when their voice Is louder
than I can bear
It's in these moments
I write to you - in secret
I write to you - my words
that cannot be spoken
Stanley Arumugam
Sandton 26th April 2013
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 9:32 AM UTC
I am learning to listen
to what's not said
to read between the lines
to see the invisible sights
to feel the silent heartbeat
I am learning to listen
to the moments of friendship silence
to hear you dive deep in our dialogue
and come up floundering breathless
I have to resist being your saviour
Just watch you go up and down
up and down but you do not drown
I am learning to listen
to your unspoken presence divine
in the quiet of my lonely night
when my mind is taken over
with a million unanswered questions
regrets, shame, hopes and dreams
painted on white walls of ****** frustration
I am learning to listen
in the times you do not speak
in the times you embrace me
with all of my deep uncertainty
my fear - my doubts - my pain
In the moments I think you absent
and nowhere to be seen
you sit across from me - silent
listening and not to be heard
I often neglect the greatest gift you
give to me - as my lover-friend-divine
to enjoy you as the one
who does not want to be heard
but the one who just wants to listen
Stanley Arumugam
17 April 2013
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 2:27 PM UTC
My aged mum excitedly points outside
White flowers burst open bright overnight
She says they look like popcorn
I love her metaphor and play along
Flowers white like popcorn bright
Tickled by the heat of the micro light
Mum speaks of small things in her big age
Sun, rain, wind, hot, cold, quite days
The unrelenting pain in her legs
and memories of things she could once do with ease
She speaks of the coming and going of mischievous monkeys
real monkeys - not metaphors
She tells of how they brazenly steal her fruit
when she is alone at home - teasing her
as they walk backwards out the glass door
slinging their stolen bananas like a colt 44
My mum sits across from me
the sun gently brushes her short silver grey strands of hair
Today she wears a pretty pink dress - patterned bright
with pretty pink and blue flowers - reflection
of the pretty flowers outside
She sits in serenity - she is at peace - inside
My niece pops corn in the microwave
My sisters biryani fills the hungry air
My brother in law awaits his birthday party
I am at home
The pretty white flowers
silently blossom in the yard
I sit across from my metaphor mum
My poet, my muse, my loving bard
Stanley Arumugam
Richards Bay
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 1:51 PM UTC
Your legacy lives on beyond your death
You were constant in prison and palaces
You character was beyond fear or favour
You tempered justice with abundant mercy
You extended your hand of forgiveness
You turned the other cheek in impossible times
You taught us that reconciliation is possible
You saw a future beyond the present crisis
You cast off any illusion of being a hero god
You taught us that freedom comes at a cost
You reminded us that to lead is to serve
You gave our nation and the world special gifts
You gave us gifts of love, unity, faith and hope
Your legacy lives on as a bright light in our hearts
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC