A disturbed child
For hours and days we talked, and there was that portion
Of that honest conversation when he opened a certain
Cabinet where a black-covered diary contains a page of the story
About a disturbed child,
A confused child, not because he was not born like
Any other new born child, on a package-deal of innocence
For a start of his existence,
A happy child, a normal child with a
Loving and caring ma and pa and excited siblings
To receive him as another playmate added to their house,
At most, the conversation changed to a slow motion
In that portion,
He showed some serious indications, a gaze of a man,
Undistracted by her poise for casualness and
A consideration that this is nothing but another kind
Of a light conversation unlike no other,
It is not, this is serious, he said, because this is true and this really
Happened, the cabinet and the diary are nothing but
Fronts to fictional realities,
He was the disturbed child, and he is going to tell her about it,
Today,
He did not have a happy childhood, as he once told the Jesuits,
Who accepted him to their fold,
And for which he, of course took his graceful exit,
Because he is a liar,
He began talking about some bamboo sticks which hit him,
The sack which enclosed him, the rope which hanged him
On the kitchen beam,
The ants that bit him while he
Kneeled on mongo beans under a scorching sun, and the mother
He still very well remembers,
She was not able to do anything to save him.
She too was part of
That disturbance, the slap that still left a mark of humiliation on his
Left cheek,
A scar on his childhood, forever. She died earlier than expected.
He, the villain, did not.
Not the child, who later escaped from hell.
that child though disturbed by his past, is now given the right to speak.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
A Child Is Sweet Any Day Of The Week
A child that's born on a Monday
holds beauty in sight and mind.
A child that's born on a Tuesday
is graceful, sweet and kind.
A child that's born on a Wednesday
is a treasure, so they say.
A child that 's born on a Thursday
sees a quest with each new day.
A child that's born on a Friday
is loving and freely gives.
A child that's born on a Saturday
shows great work through how they live.
A child that's born on a Sunday
is happy, carefree and gay.
I guess you could say that a child is
special, no matter what the day.
poem by Christine K. Trease
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Old Child
Child. Old child,
No longer wild;
No longer speaking,
No longer beguiled;
I have become
A quiet old child.
Child. Old child,
No longer cold;
Never an old man,
Always too old;
I have become
An old child tenfold.
Child. Old child,
Forever a child;
Always rethinking,
Always exiled.
I should become
A happy old child.
Child. Old child.
Always soft-spoken;
No longer breaking,
Still being broken;
I have become
An old child, unspoken.
Child. Old child,
No longer bold;
By thinking, rethinking
Of stories untold,
All through my childhood,
I've become... old.
poem by Mihai Cosmescu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Children's Special...
Every child is born with a gift,
and there is a day to celebrate it.
A child is your treasure given by God,
Be blessed so, and pray to the Lord,
for that child gives you happiness,
Gone are your day's of loneliness.
Childhood does not last,
Every child remembers the past,
It depends on how you groom,
Give the child more than a room.
A child carries an ocean of innocence,
not knowing it's consequence,
does a deed that is not desired,
Many parents have always admired.
Thinking of a day for children,
is a wonderful thought,
Cherish every moment of what they have brought,
to you with their playful minds,
which do leave a trail of joy in your mind.
Remember your own childhood days,
make it more than special today,
make the children feel how good you felt that day,
when you celebrated the children's day,
in your childhood days.
poem by Deepak Calyampoondi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Monday's Child is Ill
Monday's child is ill, I'm told.
Tuesday's child has caught a cold.
Wednesday's child is down with the flu.
Thursday's child is feeling blue.
Friday's child can't eat any food.
Saturday's child is in a foul mood.
And the child that's born on the seventh day
Is the only child that feels okay.
poem by Bruce Larkin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Child Is Born
a child, a child, a child is born
to a mother who lies near death;
no food, no home, no place to go,
smell the stink of fear on her breath.
you build and destroy, and build again,
pound your chests with arrogant pride.
litigate and over populate,
sell your vision while children die.
if there's a God He doesnt live
in your temples and your shrines.
but in the cry of the hungry child,
and the ones you've left behind.
a child, a child, a child is born....
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who Will Cry?
Who will cry for the little child who goes for days without food?
Who will cry for the little child who parents beat them?
Who will cry for the little child who is mistreated for being different?
Who will cry for the little child who goes unloved?
Who will cry for the little child whose stomach is swelled up?
Who will cry for the little child who doesn't have clothes to wear?
Who will cry for the little child who is shunned for not being popular?
Who will cry for the little child who is molested every night?
Who will cry for the little child who's parents are not around?
Who will cry for the little child who has to take care of his self?
Who will cry?
Will you cry?
Cause I have.
poem by Natasha Ligons
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mondays Child Poem
Mondays child is fair of face,
Tuesdays child is full of grace,
Wednesdays child is full of woe,
Thursdays child has far to go,
Fridays child is loving and giving,
Saturdays child works hard for his living,
And the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.
poem by Anamika Dev
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Don't Cry, Child
Don't cry, child
For children starving far away
For homeless people on the streets
Begging for change.
Don't cry, child
For those of us who have no dreams
Who live in dark holes
That we dig ourselves, laboriously - why?
Don't cry, child
For forgotten rainbows
Or melancholy rainstorms
For wispy clouds, always drifting away.
Don't cry, child
For who you are not
Or who you have been
For who you are.
Don't cry, child
For the last animal of it's kind
The mother who cannot feed her children
A planet in need.
Don't cry, child
When you stand on the edge of forever
And wish you could fly
And see the world at your fingertips.
Don't cry, child
For long-gone yesterdays
Or yearned-for tomorrows
Don't cry, child
For what you have done today
Forgive
Start a new day
Make it better than the last.
poem by Nina Dringo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Three children
Three little children.
One with a home.
One sitting on a thrown.
The last child only skin and bones.
One child lives happily with his family.
One child sits alone; his family won’t spare the time
The last child watches his mother die.
One child has a few new toys.
One child has the best toys anyone can imagine.
The last child plays with sticks and stones.
One child attends public school.
One child stays home and studies alone.
The last child has to cook and has never opened a book.
The children become men.
One man is off to war.
One man is sitting behind a jail door.
The last man is very far from poor.
poem by Yvette Carbajal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Broken child
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who has seen more than his young eyes should.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who would run away from it all if he could.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who has been ravished by the likes of you and I.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child with to much pride to cry.
I see the face off a broken child.
a child who fights off anyone who cares.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who wishes his mother was there.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who wont let his hardships keep him down.
I see the face of a broken child.
A child who refuses to give up and reveal a frown.
poem by Joshua Reid
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Monday's Child
Monday’s child is full of face,
Tuesday’s child is full of grace,
Wednesday’s child is full of woe,
Thursday’s child has far to go,
Friday’s child is loving and giving
Saturday’s child works hard for its living
And a child that is born on Sabbath day
Is fair and wise and good at play
Give This Child What She Needs
Give this child what she needs
Love
Give this child what she needs
Shelter
Give this child what she needs
Prayers
Give this child what she needs
Some food and water
Give this child what she needs
Good parents
Give this child what she needs
Good manors
Give this child what she needs
A smoke free home
Give this child what she needs
Peace and happiness
Give this child what she needs
To know God
Give this child what she needs
Your guidance
Give this child what she needs
Clothes
Give this child what she needs
Your support
Give this child what she needs
Some family time
Give this child what she needs
A nice bath every day
Give this child what she needs
Some discipline
Give this child what she needs
A warm bed to sleep on
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Monday's child is fair of face, Tuesday's child is full of grace, Wednesday's child is full of woe. Thursday's child has far to go, Friday's child is loving and giving, Saturday's child works hard for its living, And a child that's born of the Sabbath day Is fair and wise and good and gay.
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Yesterdays Child
Roy orbison/bill dees
I see the face of yesterdays child,
Living in a state of in between.
Is there a place for yesterdays child,
Searching for an unforgotten dream?
Looking for rainbows at midnight,
Hoping tomorrow will come.
Will time erase for yesterdays child?
What will the child become?
I hear the voice of yesterdays child
Echoing my name, my name, my name.
Is there a choice for yesterdays child,
Seeking shelter from the falling rain?
Chasing a butterfly lover,
Making a run for the sun.
Who will rejoice for yesterdays child?
What is the game to be won?
Will you draw?
Will you fold?
Will you start playing wild?
What is the future for yesterdays child?
Will you turn to dust,
Or go to the sea, racing with destiny?
Oh,look at me,
Born to be yesterdays child.
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For A Child
FOR A CHILD
No worry can be as great
As for a child.
No caring can be as great
As for a child.
For a child.
The world is made
For a child
All good we have is prayed
For a child
For a child
For a child.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Born But a Little Child
He who spoke the world into creation
He was born but a little child
With love so meek and mild
His birth brought the world a new elation
Was born to die to save all the nations
He was born but a little child
With a precious glowing smile
Was to become the church’s foundation
He was born but a little child
To reclaim the fallen world for His own
He was born but a little child
He came that true love, through Him, could be known
He was born but a little child
To take on our sins, and for them atone
((May 31st,2003))
poem by Danny Speicher
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The Child In Me
I am a full-grown man
With a wife and children
A good job to do
Have all that I need
People think
I have lot of experience
To share with others
I give to them
What is expected from me?
But do not hide
The child in me
At times
I cry and laugh like him
Ask questions
As a child does
Play and behave like him
I know
Childhood cannot return
But the child in me
Takes me back
To the carefree
World of A child
No matter,
How old I become
I do not want
The child in me to die
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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Children Of The Heart
Have you ever left?
Your childhood alone
Have you ever let?
Your childhood dreams go
I've never really known
The joys a child should know
I've never really seen
What it's like to just being a child
But in each of us there lies
A child breaking to be free
To learn life's mysteries
In child like dream
To run with friends and family
Free just like a breeze
To play in the fields
Of a childhood memory's
What is it really like?
To be a warrior of old
What is it really like?
To be innocent in ones life
What is it really like?
To be a hero in a child's dream
I sigh and often dream
What it would be like to be free
Free of all your burdens
In a child's innocent world
Of dreams
Can you explain to me?
What the mystery a child hold's
Why do we crave
Our childhood of old
I smile and think often
Deep inside my soul
There will always be a child
Bursting forth to be free
Just wanting to let go
There will always be a child
Wanting all their dreams
To fly into a world of fantasy's
And just being free
Smiling softly to myself
I close my eyes and dream
Of when I was a little girl
Reliving all my dreams
poem by Kaila George
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