A Mystic
infant hands
tender fists
holding tight
rosy dreams
smiles divine
dancing on
delicate lips
god's grace
on fluid eyelids
mystic hues
ringing around
mother's bosom
swells in pride
milk of love
knows no bounds!
every infant
a mystery
every infant
a mystic!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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A Cradle Song
Sweet dreams, form a shade
O’er my lovely infant’s head;
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
By happy, silent, moony beams.
Sweet Sleep, with soft down
Weave thy brows an infant crown.
Sweet Sleep, Angel mild,
Hover o’er my happy child.
Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my delight;
Sweet smiles, mother’s smiles,
All the livelong night beguiles.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes.
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.
Sleep, sleep, happy child,
All creation slept and smil'd;
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
While o’er thee thy mother weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Holy image I can trace.
Sweet babe, once like thee,
Thy Maker lay and wept for me,
Wept for me, for thee, for all,
When He was an infant small.
Thou His image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee
Smiles on thee, on me, on all;
Who became an infant small.
Infant smiles are His own smiles;
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.
poem by William Blake from Songs of Innocence (1789)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Song
Sweet dreams, form a shade
O'er my lovely infant's head!
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
By happy, silent, moony beams!
Sweet Sleep, with soft down
Weave thy brows an infant crown
Sweet Sleep, angel mild,
Hover o'er my happy child!
Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my delight!
Sweet smiles, mother's smile,
All the livelong night beguile.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thine eyes!
Sweet moan, sweeter smile,
All the dovelike moans beguile.
Sleep, sleep, happy child!
All creation slept and smiled.
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
While o'er thee doth mother weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Holy image I can trace;
Sweet babe, once like thee
Thy Maker lay, and wept for me:
Wept for me, for thee, for all,
When He was an infant small.
Thou His image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee!
Smiles on thee, on me, on all,
Who became an infant small;
Infant smiles are his own smiles;
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.
poem by William Blake
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The Beginning...
wading the waters i pushed my way
struggling hard to touch the land
held upside down, was my first view
of the world i’m to pass by
washed and tidied, i lie lost and helpless
a pair of hands cuddled me close…
i had nothing else but to pinch
all that i needed from her
merciless at my demand, i howled
and cried with not a dropp of tear
filled to brim, i would slip into
the world unknown to all…
slowly with the manna as my diet
i began to move the little i could
getting habituated to wail and demand
not a moment did i give her rest
demanding her constant presence
regaling as she gathered me…
suddenly one night in the middle
of an innocent sleep did i turn
on my belly i lie waking her up
in glee she drew me to her as a gift
at that independent movement
on that long infant summer night…
i kept smiling in that mystic glee
my hands splashing and cuddling
the damp sheets did my tender hands
carry into my mouth, comfort lit large
on my infant face as the body recalled
the touch of the warm flow…
somebody sat by my baby bed
touched me on my toes
a tickle went up
soft tender lips as a reflex
filled the infant face and
ripples of light flowed in…
what was it i was writing
in the thin air around me?
what memories left behind
did the infant mind recall?
i smiled and smiled as my little
fingers went writing in the air…
somebody lifted me
up into the air
my small lungs
struggled and gasped
all around me were
peals of laughter…
somebody wrapped me
into a bundle and held me
close to heart against the chill winds
and the hold tightened around me
with each wave of chillness
i dreamed warm infant dreams…
from the dreams i crawled
into the world on my belly
one hand folded under it
i went round and round
i leaped and leaped and hit
my nose against the floor…
28jan2010
14.20hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Repose in Egypt
O happy mother! while the man wayworn
Sleeps by his ass and dreams of daily bread,
Wakeful and heedful for thy infant care,
O happy mother! while thy husband sleeps,
Art privileged, O blessed one, to see
Celestial strangers sharing in thy task,
And visible angels waiting on thy child.
Take, O young soul, O infant heaven-desired,
Take and fear not the cates, although of earth,
Which to thy hands celestial hands extend,
Take and fear not: such vulgar meats of life
Thy spirit lips no more must scorn to pass;
The seeming ill, contaminating joys,
Thy sense divine no more be loth to allow;
The pleasures as the pains of our strange life
Thou art engaged, self-compromised, to share.
Look up, upon thy mother’s face there sits
No sad suspicion of a lurking ill,
No shamed confession of a needful sin;
Mistrust her not, although of earth she too:
Look up! the bright-eyed cherubs overhead
Strew from mid air fresh flowers to crown the just.
Look! thy own father’s servants these, and thine,
Who at his bidding and at thine are here.
In thine own word was it not said long since
Butter and honey shall he eat, and learn
The evil to refuse and choose the good:
Fear not, O babe divine, fear not, accept;
O happy mother, privileged to see,
While the man sleeps, the sacred mystery.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Happy Birthday to you.
Christmas mass at twelve,
To mark the birth of a kid,
When Mary bore her son,
Joseph was so gracious.
Took her son in his hand,
Wiped out the body fluid,
Cleaned Him, not bathed,
The arrival of a messiah untied.
Calves and the cows looked after Him,
Chirping birds and insects made the lullaby,
Mary, the mother, was too tired,
While the cute infant was taken care.
Let the baby boy has his good sleep,
He has a duty to do on his Father’s Instruction,
Let the infant feels the warmth of His mummy,
He needs to endure the shocking reality.
An infant who has been adored since young,
He has a crown and a cloak of white and red,
He stands on the globe with His kind look,
Happy Birthday to you., Jesus of Nazareth.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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My Mother
Who sat and watched my infant head
When sleeping on my cradle bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed?
My Mother.
When pain and sickness made me cry,
Who gazed upon my heavy eye,
And wept for fear that I should die?
My Mother.
Who taught my infant lips to pray
And love God’s holy book and day,
And walk in wisdom’s pleasant way?
My Mother.
And can I ever cease to be
Affectionate and kind to thee,
Who wast so very kind to me,
My Mother?
Ah, no! the thought I cannot bear,
And if God please my life to spare
I hope I shall reward they care,
My Mother.
When thou art feeble, old and grey,
My healthy arm shall be thy stay,
And I will soothe thy pains away,
My Mother.
poem by Ann Taylor
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Sleep! Sleep! Beauty Bright
Sleep! sleep! beauty bright,
Dreaming o'er the joys of night;
Sleep! sleep! in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.
Sweet Babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.
As thy softest limbs I feel,
Smiles as of the morning steal
O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast
Where thy little heart does rest.
O! the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep.
When thy little heart does wake
Then the dreadful lightnings break,
From thy cheek and from thy eye,
O'er the youthful harvests nigh.
Infant wiles and infant smiles
Heaven and Earth of peace beguiles.
poem by William Blake
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A cradle song
Sleep Sleep beauty bright
Dreaming oer the joys of night
Sleep Sleep: in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit & weep
Sweet Babe in thy face
Soft desires I can trace
Secret joys & secret smiles
Little pretty infant wiles.
As thy softest limbs I feel
Smiles as of the morning steal
Oer thy cheek & oer thy breast
Where thy little heart does rest
O the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep
When thy little heart does wake
Then the dreadful lightnings break
From thy cheek & from thy eye
Oer the youthful harvests nigh
Infant wiles & infant smiles
Heaven & Earth of peace beguiles
poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1793)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Cradle Song
Sleep, Sleep, beauty bright,
Dreaming o'er the joys of night;
Sleep, Sleep; in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit & weep.
Sweet Babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.
As thy softest limbs I feel,
Smiles as of the morning steal
O’er thy cheek & o’er thy breast
Where thy little heart doth rest.
O, the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep.
When thy little heart doth wake,
Then the dreadful lightnings break.
From thy cheek & from thy eye
O'er the youthful harvests nigh
Infant wiles & infant smiles
Heaven & Earth of peace beguiles.
poem by William Blake (1794)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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We grown-up people think that we appreciate music, but if we realized the sense that an infant has brought with it of appreciating sound and rhythm, we would never boast of knowing music. The infant is music itself. In the cradle it in moving its little arms and legs in a certain rhythm. And when our music falls on the ears of an infant it is of the lowest character compared with the music it is accustomed to.
quote by Inayat Khan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mother’s Last Watch
Written on the occasion of the death of the infant daughter of Her Grace the Duchess of Sutherland.
I.
HARK, through the proudly decorated halls,
How strangely sounds the voice of bitter woe,
Where steps that dread their echo as it falls
Steal silently and sadly to and fro.
There, wither'd lies the bud so lately given,
And, beautiful in grief as when she smiled,
Bow'd 'neath the unexpected stroke of Heaven,
The mourning Mother watches o'er her Child.
II.
'Tis her last Watch! Sleep seals those infant lids,
Dark fall the lashes on that roseleaf cheek-
But oh!--the look is there, which Hope forbids;
Of Death--of Death those heavy eyelids speak!--
'Tis her last Watch!--no more that gentle hand
With cautious love shall curtain out the light--
No more that graceful form shall mutely stand
And bless thy slumbers thro' the shadowy night.
III.
Hush'd is the innocent heart which throbbing pain,
Vain hope, and vain regret had never moved.
The God who gave hath claim'd his gift again,
And angels welcome her, on earth so loved.
Yet still of hope and fear the endless strife
Within that Mother's bosom faintly swells,
Still, still she gazes on, and dreams of life,
Though the fond falsehood Reason's pow'r repels.
IV.
Unheard each word of comfort faintly falls
From lips whose tones in other days were dear,
Her infant's smile is all her heart recalls,--
Her infant's voice is all her heart can hear;--
She clasps its hand, the feverish glow of hers
Wakes into warmth the freezing current's flow;
She bends,--her sobbing breath a ringlet stirs
With mimic life upon its pallid brow.
V.
Oh! what a mournful thing is human love!
In happier days of hope and bliss gone by
The Mother's heart with pitying throb would move
If but a teardrop dimm'd that laughing eye:
And now she prays that Heaven the boon may give
To hear from those pale lips a cry of pain--
Aught that could bid her sinking soul revive,
And tell the mourner thou wert hers again!
VI.
Ah ! never more that dream of hope may be!--
The summer breeze among the boughs shall wave,
The summer sun beam bright o'er land and lea,
But thou, no spring shall wake thee from the grave!
No more those little rosy lips shall greet
With brightly sudden smile her look of pride;
No more with falt'ring steps those fairy feet
Shall totter onward to her cherish'd side.
VII.
All, all is over! See, with painful start
She wakens from her trance to feel the whole,
And know the pang even from thy corse to part--
Thou vainly guarded treasure of her soul!
The hand that, ah! so often hath caress'd,
Aids now to place thee in thy narrow bed!
The last wild kiss upon thy cheek is press'd--
The last fond tear upon thy coffin shed!
And all is hush'd: but oft thro' Life's dull track
(When time her present sorrow hath beguiled)
That pale, sweet brow shall dimly bring us back
The Mother's last Watch o'er her fairy Child!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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On Another's Sorrow
Can I see another’s woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another’s grief,
And not seek for kind relief?
Can I see a falling tear,
And not feel my sorrow’s share?
Can a father see his child
Weep, nor be with sorrow fill'd?
Can a mother sit and hear
An infant groan, an infant fear?
No, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!
And can He who smiles on all
Hear the wren with sorrows small,
Hear the small bird’s grief and care,
Hear the woes that infants bear,
And not sit beside the nest,
Pouring pity in their breast;
And not sit the cradle near,
Weeping tear on infant’s tear;
And not sit both night and day,
Wiping all our tears away?
O, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!
He doth give His joy to all;
He becomes an infant small;
He becomes a man of woe;
He doth feel the sorrow too.
Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,
And thy Maker is not by:
Think not thou canst weep a tear,
And thy Maker is not near.
O! He gives to us His joy
That our grief he may destroy;
Till our grief is fled & gone
He doth sit by us and moan.
poem by William Blake from Songs of Innocence (1789)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The First Tooth
SISTER.
Through the house what busy joy,
Just because the infant boy
Has a tiny tooth to show.
I have got a double row,
All as white, and all as small;
Yet no one cares for mine at all.
He can say but half a word,
Yet that single sound's preferred
To all the words that I can say
In the longest summer day.
He cannot walk, yet if he put
With mimic motion out his foot,
As if he thought he were advancing,
It's prized more than my best dancing.
BROTHER.
Sister, I know, you jesting are,
Yet O! of jealousy beware.
If the smallest seed should be
In your mind of jealousy,
It will spring, and it will shoot,
Till it bear the baneful fruit.
I remember you, my dear,
Young as is this infant here.
There was not a tooth of those
Your pretty even ivory rows,
But as anxiously was watched,
Till it burst its shell new hatched,
As if it a Phoenix were,
Or some other wonder rare.
So when you began to walk-
So when you began to talk-
As now, the same encomiums past.
'Tis not fitting this should last
Longer than our infant days;
A child is fed with milk and praise.
poem by Charles Lamb
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Those who have lost an infant are never, in a way, without an infant.
quote by Leigh Hunt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silent Night
Instrumental
Silent night, holy night,
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and child.
Holy infant so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace.
Sleep in heavenly peace.
Silent night, holy night,
Son of God, love's pure light
Radiant beams from thy holy face,
With the dawn of redeeming grace,
Jesus, Lord, at thy birth.
Jesus, Lord, at thy birth.
Silent night, holy night,
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and child.
Holy infant so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace.
Sleep in heavenly peace...
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From random pages
For once the eager lover
Affected to offer his best
And lo, there he is…
Crushed under shame!
The teenager ran
With the moving bus
To show her his 'worth'
There he is in a pool!
The young son blushed
When the father tried to know
The father smiled
The girl left the town!
I saw real fear in the eyes
Of a woman pregnant
While crossing the road
Her hands carefully clutched at her belly!
The young bride in smiles
Her eyes eager with expectation
Tears smudged her cheeks
For parents she would never see!
An infant cries and cries
Mother’s sterile pathetic breasts
There another mother, breasts oozing
No infant to warm her heart!
For one last time
I played the match
Of my life…
And simply lost it!
Several pages of life
Each intriguing and interesting
Not so easy to turn any page
The book burdens the elbow!
04oct2010
23.01hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Walking Toeless
Stone by stone you kill me.
Petal by petal I die -
holding a scalpel
to unwrite my name.
Violence
erupts among words.
A temple breaks.
O goddess! don't cry beyond silence.
The infant's milk
spills in darkness.
Antiquity raises a wall
around the mother.
I am vanishing now,
freezing my assets.
poem by Satish Verma
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Crime
It must be midnight; no idea
Anyhow the darkness is horrible
And not a single star remains in the sky.
An infant's cry very loud; non stop
Deaf father still not sleep and mother is dead already
Nobody knows.
There isn't a single meal in her stomach.
Infant's cry continues.
A retired and a senile magistrate who never sleeps lives at the next door raided the cottage.
Does he strangle the child?
*I dedicate this poem to street children of the World who doesn't have an identity.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Silent Night
Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
round your virgin, mother and child
Holy infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace
Silent night, holy night
Shepherds, quake at the sight
Glory streams from heaven afar
Heavenly hosts sing allehujah
Christ the savior is born
Christ the savior is born
Recitation
Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
round yon virgin, mother and child
Holy infant so infant and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace
song performed by by Garth Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Poem of Love and Longing
A thousand moonlights
Bloom within
A thousand infant suns
Caress within
A thousand springs
Shower within
Just at a passing thought
Of you and for you
The moon on your terrace
On your after dinner moon-walk
The delicate sun rays on your skin
At your morning walk
The spring gardens you conceal
Behind a private wall
Are my buddies connecting
You and me in a
Thousand blooming orchards:
One half soaked in
A thousand moonlights
The other stirring
To a thousand infant rays
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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