A Child’s contempt
Far worse than labour pain,
gnaws- raw without scab.
haiku by Mamta Agarwal
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Runaway Child
Runaway Child, don’t have to take it anymore
Runaway Child, just walk out of that door
Runaway Child, no more chances to take
Runaway Child, it’s your choice to make
Runaway Child, aren’t you sick and tired of the pain
Runaway Child, here there’s nothing to gain
Runaway Child, you get treated like dirt
Runaway Child, get away from the hurt
Runaway Child, here it’s no use
Runaway Child, get away from the abuse
Runaway Child, you don’t have 9 lives
Runaway Child, take that step or dive
Runaway Child, why are you still there
Runaway Child, how much pain can you bear
Runaway Child, you don’t have to say goodbye
Runaway Child, say goodbye, when they DIE!
poem by Patrick Harris
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The Pain Feels Good
I never knew how much pain can hurt,
How much agony can come from death.
After the suffering is gone, then comes the hole in your heart.
The hole hurts worse than the pain ever did,
And only then do you wish for the pain again.
When the pain returns you feel emotion again.
And that's what you start to want
To feel emotion, any emotion.
Pain is best because you're used to it,
You're used to it and so you revel in it,
You learn to love pain
So pain loves you.
It haunts you until you want pain more than anything
You wish bad things so you can have more pain.
And that is worse than anything else
Because you are officially at rock bottom.
Rock bottom is where I'm at.
-E-
poem by Emily Swinney
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THIS IS OUR WORLD! ! (SHOCKING n EXPLICIT)
Where a child lives in a warm mother's cocoon
Where a child is sold to the prostitutes, her life doomed
Where a father fiercely protects his child
Yet another father enters another's child
Where children play without any fear
Where men enter boys through the rear
Where a child gets a new toy every day
Where a child becomes a toy near the bay
Where a child is whooped up and twirled
Where a child is forced down and hurled
Where they go to fancy schools, sing and play
Where for a single meal, they sweat and labour all day
poem by Renu Rakheja
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New legislation has just been adopted by the International Labour Organization on the Worst Forms of Child Labor, such as bonded labour, prostitution and hazardous work.
quote by Carol Bellamy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Labour Of Love
Marriage is a two-headed transplant,
Sometimes thats how it seems.
When the sex wears off its all give and take,
And its good-bye to all your dreams.
One head wants to go to a movie
While the other wants to stay at home,
And just like a two-headed transplant
You get the feeling that youre never alone.
Mr. and mrs. horrible are an example of what I say.
They used to be so in love, now they fight so much
That theyve frightened all their friends away.
They never get visits from neighbors,
Theyve alienated everyone.
And what started off as all cuddles and kisses
Has finally become
A labour of love, labour of love.
The torment, the worry and woe,
Loves full of fears, bruises and tears,
Thats the way that a true love grows.
Its a labour of love, labour of love.
Its a struggle, without a doubt,
But if they keep on trying, screaming and crying,
Somehow theyre gonna work it all out.
It turned into a two-headed transplant,
But it started off with here comes the bride.
But cut off one of the heads and youll soon find out
That the other just couldnt survive.
Because they couldnt stand to be separated
They still each others to have and hold.
Anyone who thinks the transplant is easy
Really ought to be told
Its a labour of love, labour of love.
The torments, the worries and whoas,
The battles, the fights, the bruises and bites,
Thats the way that a true love grows.
They took the vows, for better or worse,
And they had it blessed by heaven above,
But what started so brightly as a tender romance
Turned into a labour of love.
Turned into a labour of love.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Labouring Under Child Labour
A child is born out of labour.
A child is sent to school
And made to recognise
Read, recite, and write
Draw, count, and play.
The child undergoes labour
In all these movements
Of mind and limb
Whether he likes it or not.
If a child learns too fast
And sets a precocious record
In his studies or GK
Or in singing or dancing
Or in acting or in a sport
You laud him as a prodigy.
A school child is made
To work or wait for hours
Under the scorching sun
For a political or governmental event
With no snacks or water
Whether he like it or not.
It’s civic training,
Practicals of theory,
Shrama daan (labour of love)
Of the citizen tomorrow’s.
So catch them young!
If a child wants to be free
In this free country
From loads of books
And exams of rote
And play in the lap of nature
Like a fawn or a cub
And begin to study life
In the open school
And learn the letters
Of the art of living
And helps himself
And his parents too
By willingly working as a help
And earns a few dimes
To drive the wolf
Away from the door
And survive
In the rat race of this world –
No, he isn’t allowed.
It’s child’s labour
A cognisable offence!
The child with a silver spoon
In his mouth
Who labours with his mind
Is hailed with accolades
And promoted by sponsors
And reaps golden harvests.
The child with a pewter spoon
In his mouth
Who labours with his hands
Is called child labour
And rudely snapped
From his patrons
Who are raided, reviled, and punished.
And the tear-dried starveling
Is left in the lachrymose lurch and
Heartlessly denied his only honest means
Of keeping body and soul together.
[May 15,2009: : Hyderabad - 500 056]
poem by AtreyaSarma Uppaluri
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All This Pain And All This Accusation
ALL THIS PAIN AND ALL THIS ACCUSATION
All this pain and all this accusation
And all this condemnation
What do they mean?
I am not worthy truly
But did I cause all this?
If there were another universe
I doubt I would have the courage to go it
But meantime the old one gets worse and worse
And I remain alone
Compensating myself
With small lines.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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12/09....Pain
Pain...............
It has many forms, some hurt worse than others
Some cause you to bleed, while others make you cry
Some make you want to die, or be dead, while
others just make you want to stay in bed
Pain, its like a bee stinging you in the face
Pain, its like someone sprayin you with mace
Pain, its like having your best friend die
Pain, its like biting into a hot piece of pie
Pain, its like a knife tearing your skin
Pain, its like not having any friends
Pain, its like having your heart ripped in two
Pain, its like not knowing what to do
Pain, is a common thing for me
Pain, it fills my life with sorrow and misery
Pain, it makes me want to cry everyday
Pain, it makes me feel the worst way
Pain, it drives my life and the things I do
Pain..........please leave me alone!
poem by Sacred Garden
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Some Random Thoughts
the way things fall apart may seem a rude shock but there should be some reason somewhere for them to fall apart or unify...
when there are people to give, will there be dearth of takers? Yes, there will be if you don’t give what they want or need!
i'm in 'search' so or you-you'll understand the finding in your language and i, in mine. in language lies the difference the way truth gets revealed. 'search, any way! '
not only from womb to tomb (doesn't it sound a cliche?) that we are all alike...in between too, all our needs are one and the same!
affinity breeds contempt is what we all know. but to me more than contempt it breeds 'taken-for-granted-ness. ' i think that's worse than contempt!
standing on cliff of desire arms stretch towards the empty space and down below, everything looks remote and vaguely familiar!
just occured: why is it always 'fall in love? ' is 'fall' indicative of subsequent cuts and bruises?
however much we may like to idealize silence, we do need verbal communication to straighten several conflicts. silence is only a filler that consolidates all that's expressed.
uncertainty is worse than virus...
when heart is filled with the beloved, it's either wholesome or lonesome...
to assume and talk on something and to know and talk, isn't there an ocean of difference between the two?
silence definitely eloquent. silence undoubtedly expressive. but to experience those moments of eloquence and expression, don't you think we do need some communication
with whom you find yourself all in one piece/with whom you experience bliss and joy/that's where lies your final refuge
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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For Every Child
For every child who cries at night
Alone with shame in pain and fright
For every child who wants so much
To only feel a gentle touch
For the beaten child, who cries in pain
Whose tears run silent, like the rain
For the child used to satisfy lust
Who never learns to love or trust
For the child taken from her home
And made to feel so all alone
For the child whose home is just a shell
Where life becomes a living hell
For the child who smiles but cannot feel
Because of scars too deep to heal
For every child who yearns for love
I hope and pray to God above
To hear your cries and heal your pain
And give you back your life again
poem by Ashleigh Gaffney
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The Cloud Is Pregnant
When the cloud is pregnant
we know what it give brith
to, Some cherish and celebrate
this brith, but others mourn this
Child. We know what it is, but we
did not know what it brings, It is
labour time we can feel her pain
as she express it through gaint
bomb blast, lighting and the wind
glorify this brith.Feel forsaken by
the sun, moon and the tiny sky fishes
some part of the world pay for this.
Some merry under this child why other
swim in it with agony. Just keep on
swimming untill you get to the dry land.
poem by Enyinwa Okechukwu Enyinwa
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Child Labour 2
Engaged a child lbour to
choppedoff the new dream.
Trapped the child labour
in a cycle of poverty to
fulfill your aim through them.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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A Crying Child
Inside my heart there's a crying child
Still remains the pain of the past
Still is there aline in pain
O, Child don't you know that?
There are truths in life won't be ever changed
All the time they stay the same
All the time they remain the pain
Over and over they revive the ache
O, Child those lost childhood days
O, Child and who can bring back the past
They are unknown inside of your heart
The longing to the unknown
Unlived
Deprived
Strange
O, Lost childhood days
O, Child Cry Cry
May your innocent tears brings back the time
O, Child may a magic take you over there
May the time stops once again right there
May the time washes away your pain
O, Child still there are tears uncried
O, Child still the happiness is lost inside your eyes.
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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Pain and Sore
What is pain
What is Sore
Let me define the too
They mean when a soul is dead
When there is nothing left
But emptiness
Where is pain
Where is sore
For me pain is everywhere
But for the sore
Thats only in my eyes
Where I cry all the time
How is pain
How is sore
Pain slowly kills a body
Sore is worse then words can explain
Who is pain
And who is sore
Pain is the enemies-thy sisters
As for the sore that would be my heart
When is pain
And when is sore
Pain is when you call
And sore is seeing everyone cry
All these are symbolizing one thing
That thing is whats inside
What hurts and is unbarriable
So thats what, where, how, who, when
Pain and Sore are
poem by Renee Ortiz
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A Cupid's Arrow
The scab where Cupid's arrow had entered
had barely healed, leaving just a wisp of a scar
evident there; but the inner pain remained.
The sounds of its shaft, its purple burning shaft
is still present
to my muffled memory
which flinches from its approaching sound
its whoosh, its dull thud
piercing a heart valve,
denying blood to my feverished brain
which sounded the alarm that love
seen by many as Cupids blessing
but for me it was an arrow emptying out
my life's blood
outside and down, plunging
drawn by gravity
falling onto the maroon carpeting
invisible almost
while all around me urged that I celebrate
but I knew too
that heart valves burst too in love's first
volley
and that Cupid
is too, a mixed blessing.
But how to remove an embedded shaft
without causing the wound to shed one's very life blood,
or is it best to leave it in place, count the bliss
and ignore the tremendous event
many saw as unvarnished and good?
Why must Cupid's arrow steal from me my identify
in favor of a new merging one?
Why must Cupid's arrow involve blood?
And who is to explain the scab and pain
the wound brings
when love leaves
that hollow,
now bleeding vacuum,
which grows a scab
sometimes leaves a scar
plastered over with
urgings of 'you must move on.'
It is not that love is bad. It is not.
It is that it is transforming and the transforming
sometimes leaves me without a me I had known all my life
and the new me is merged with another
if they leave
I wonder what then what will I be left with?
Who has not pondered this?
Life then is the road traveled
strewn with Cupid's discarded arrows
and pained souls marching.
Yet, If I hear yet again
the shaft's approach
that whooshing sound
that Cupid's arrow makes
I know, I once again
will bare my chest
and take its plunge full on
because that is how Love is Made.
I remind myself of all of this as I prepare for the date.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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I Would Do For You
The Mother looks into the eyes of her child,
With the love that is so deep and true
Then she hugs her child and loves her child,
And says, “ there is nothing that I would not do for you”.
She loves her child more than she does herself
She’ll places her child above all others
For the child she would die, And not even ask why,
As the child is hers, and she is the mother.
She knows she’ll will always be there for her child
No matter the pain or a reason why,
Just to see it smile or hear it laugh
It is the greatest joy that a mother wont hide.
She will follow her child throughout her life
That being the reason why she says she lives
The love is so great for a mother and her child,
That there is nothing that she would not do or give.
She thinks of her child constantly when she is alone
She knows no pain or discomfort when the child is near,
She is only here to make her child happy and wise
While hoping never to bring her child a tear.
I now look into the eyes of my wife,
The woman who I love with a love so deep and true,
As a mother loves her child, a man he loves his wife
And with her in mind I say, “ there is nothing that I wouldn't do for you”.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Sitting By Your Self
THIS child needs your love,
this child sees himself in
mamas arms,
this child sings,
this child laughs,
this child cries, when your
sitting by your self.
THIS child sees your tears,
this child waits untill its
past.
this child sings,
this child laughs,
this child cries, when your
sitting by your self.
THIS child takes your hand,
this child leads you to a
chair.
this child sings,
this child laughs,
this child takes away your pain.
poem by David Gerardino
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Witch Child
This is a story of anger and pain;
Of inner storms with tears like rain;
Of hunger for love, and thirst for revenge;
Of lost hope, and a life of constant change.
There once was a child who had a great life,
Never knew sadness and never knew strife.
Until one day an old witch came a'knocking,
With dark eyes full of hatred and mocking,
And a mind with the cruellest intentions.
She ruined the child without hesitation:
She took away what the child loved the most.
All that the child had left was a ghost -
A ghost of an old faded memory,
And a heart full of pain and misery.
Innocence turned into monstrosity,
The child's pain turned into atrocity.
Soon the child was no longer a child,
But a vile creature, angry and riled.
poem by Maria Kirakosian
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Hidden Sorrow
Only because i smile,
Doesn't prove my glee,
For my hidden sorrow,
Is now controlling me,
This sea of melancholy,
Is slowly drowning me,
Under the burning crimson sky,
And screeching black stars,
the contempt that boils within,
Creates only a greater sorrow,
This contempt for myself,
And the reproach I give myself,
This reproach I can't bear,
This abuse I can't withstand,
the torment and pain,
Feds my growing hidden sorrow,
poem by Paurakh Shrestha
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For playing....
Child will
Play
The dog...
Dog also
Play
The child...
Dog tail
Catch and
Play
The child...
Very happy...
Pain again pain
With the dog...
Bite the child...
Unhappley...
The child was
Crying...
But...
Dog also crying...!
What...?
For playing....!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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