Whinger Poem by Raj Arumugam

I agreed in my youth
to spend
my time
in a monastery
speaking only once
each ten years

Ten years, and my Master
summoned me
and I said: 'My bed is hard'


I had spoken
and I was back on my next ten
at the end of which I intoned:
'The food here is horrid'


I was on my next cycle
of ten years
and at the end of the third decade
I declared: 'I quit! '


And my revered Master proclaimed:
'Go, you loser.
All you have done is to whinge.'