Abused Child
Childhood itself
Big wound!
Wound covers
Slap of a father,
Bite of a sibling,
Curse of a mother,
and finally treacherous teacher!
My childhood crawled
under serpent-hood!
No joyful moments
Only scars registered in the soul!
Childhood swayed by youth,
Enthusiastic path to new strength,
Childhood mistakes haunted the youth,
Irritable emotion creates wrath!
As there is no ray of hope,
Youth led to astray
Trapped in easy money!
Fighting with peers for livelihood,
Waiting for love at neighbourhood,
Dreaming to become rich,
Struggling inch by inch,
facing crunch after crunch,
Dreams shattered and happiness slashed
Stood on the fate’s pedestal!
Unknown mistake
finally pushed me to jail!
Justice delayed,
Life is under trial
Wounds mounting
Time never heals all injuries
Time intensifies wounds
Wound ….. Wound..
Wound comes round and round
Life has no re- wind!
Life sinks in dark abyss
poem by Mula Veereswara Rao
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2.03 Childhood - Youth - Old Age
The three around the fire sitting,
Gossiping of Life and its doings,
Reached a point thought provoking,
Of their journey and life prevailing. [1]
CHILDHOOD:
“Please do not leave me at this time,
Youth, do take me in your prime,
For I an entertainment will but be,
With playful antics in life’s journey.” [2]
YOUTH:
“No! You can not accompany me,
As struggles exist in my journey,
Your playfulantics will but not be,
In my stride of any necessity.” [3]
When on Youth tiredness grows,
Childhood memories do then glow,
But Old Age with its aged face,
Now stares at Youth in this race. [4]
OLDAGE
“Of no use it be to remember him,
You move ahead now in this game,
Childhood once gone never returns,
Forget Childhood - Love me in turn. [5]
Struggling ahead as you had moved,
Your tiredness now I shall remove,
Come on my lap relaxingly do lie,
And sleep with my pleasant lullabies.” [6]
Thinking of Childhood - its payful taps,
The Youth now lies in Oldage’s lap,
Who caressing with weak trembling hands,
Sings cradle songs of eternal sleep grand. [7]
poem by Munnan Misra
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Flesh Wound
We flew over miles of ocean--be prepared.
I don't have the faintest notion who'll be there.
You underestimated; nobody sympathized.
I think you'll soon feel better once we get inside.
I see the door is open -- Why don't we walk right in?
Let's put our party hats on and let the fun begin!
We should have called and said that we were on our way;
Who would have ever guessed that you'd be so unreachable?
Just another flesh wound--another thorn in my side
Just another flesh wound--another wonder-cure that you tried
Just another flesh wound--another scratch on your hide
Just another flesh wound--another irritation you abide
You know the rumour's going that he was synthesized.
And if we had to dress, I wouldn't be surprised.
I say -- you're so outrageous -- you'll go to number one!
They'll have us both arrested for having too much fun.
Just another flesh wound--another scratch on your hide.
Just another flesh wound--another thorn in your side.
Just another flesh wound--another bruise on your pride.
Just another flesh wound--another paranoia that you hide.
And when she held her nose, she took an underdose.
It was nice to see her completely comatose.
You go first, you're completely debonair;
Let's go dutch -- it's only fair.
Just another flesh wound--another thorn in your side.
Just another flesh wound--a minor injury you dignified.
Just another flesh wound--another unsuccessful suicide.
Just another flesh wound--another curse that you ride.
song performed by by Robert Palmer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Scars of Tomorrow
The scars of tomorrow
are now to be carved
for these stones on my road
are piled up high to the stars.
Thus a head wind named fate
can bare me to stay the course
can fling every single stone
into my torn and tortured soul.
He’s intended to lead me astray,
but on this path I won’t stray!
So may a thousand stones be thrown by fate
as such may hurt, wound and rage,
on my path I won't abide in sorrow
for every wound will cure and heal
to the scars of tomorrow
poem by Flandu Flandu
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Childhood is calling
Come on people move
For childhood is calling
time to get up and groove
there is no time for stalling
Enjoy the warm sunny day
and chase all of your blues away
this is a day that is so enthralling
listen, as your childhood is calling
old men sit and are soon recalling
and slowly as their hair is graying
they hear the siren song of youth playing
saying that their childhood is calling
the time is slipping away so quickly,
so run fast and catch the dying sun
for childhood is calling
and your life has just begun
JPM 1/4/2008 - 1/11/2008
Heartaches come and go
Heartaches come and go
wounds that are left behind
scars the face of our life
every time!
One by one
they come out every month
scriptures and scribbles
tatooed upon the chest
of some daddy's little girl
Forced into the darkness,
of a cold and damp street
scorned out of her childhood
by a guardian of her life
Hard as a stone, she is
Covered with this indelible art
That sit's upon her heart
Like an eternal scar
Her body is covered in it
She tries to hide behind it
The shame of her livelihood
Her innocence and her screams
Her childhood and her dreams
Are still so very real
Safely stored behind
The façade of her being
Nick Kler
Ghosts of Dreams
We are all of us dreamers of dreams,
On visions our childhood is fed;
And the heart of a child is unhaunted, it seems,
By ghosts of dreams that are dead.
From childhood to youth's but a span,
And the years of our life are soon sped;
But the youth is no longer a youth, but a man,
When the first of his dreams is dead.
'Tis a cup of wormwood and gall,
When the doom of a great man is said;
And the best of a man is under a pall
When the best of his dreams is dead.
He may live on by compact and plan
When the fine bloom of living is shed,
But God pity the little that's left of a man
When most of his dreams are dead.
Let him show a brave face if he can;
Let him woo fame and fortune instead;
Yet there's not much to do, but to bury a man
When the last of his dreams is dead.
poem by William Herbert Carruth
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A girl named 'ASHA
I met a girl named 'Asha'.
The light brown eyes of her
don't let me sleep at night,
keep haunting in my mind.
Then i pause, and think
no, no, its of the light brown eyes
which are chasing peace of my soul.
And then i realize
It is just her dream
to have a dignified life.
It is her childhood
which wants to play and enjoy.
It is the hope
she holds in her eyes.
It is the hunger
she carries in her stomach.
It is the painful wound on her innocent childhood
she bears every moment.
It is the scratch just below her right eye.
it is love that we feel for each other
even when we don't know
who we are.
it is her sweet words
it is her Asha
that keeps asking me
'didi aap kal aouge? '
“Faithful Trust”
There’s nothing to offer to those ignoble vows
But a long wail of dejection if this heart allows
Trust has come to open the wound
Averment carries no word for word
The misguided mind has become the guard
Trust has come to open the wound
A solemn promise’s been made to none
With faithlessness it is believed to have gone
Trust has come to open the wound
The wound that's trapped into bleeding emotion
To heal the pain it drinks the potion
Then trust has gone with its faithful notion
And everything fades with that true devotion.
(23rd of October,2010)
poem by Munia Khan
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Childhood Faded Away
Childhood Faded away,
to a far away land,
simple, so simple were we,
Days of Play,
Going our Way,
Having fun, no care,
for another day,
time for us stood still,
playing king of the hill
Childhood Faded away
thinking of another day,
summer time was fine,
when friends were kind,
swiming holes were filled,
our hearts were thrilled
Childhood Faded Away
to a time that makes me sway
many years have passed away,
since childhood faded to another day,
Childhood Faded to places,
UNKNOWN TO US
floating somewhere in time.
wrote 1-15-07
Wound
a wound will always
be a wound.
a scar may come
to say you are healed
but soon it will
remember the wound.
perhaps you have not
loved enough
to learn from those
whose hearts
are broken, they
say: forgive and forget.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Impromptu
Keep away from sharp swords
Don't go near a lovely woman.
A sharp sword too close will wound your hand;
Woman's beauty too close will wound your life!
The danger of the road is not in the distance;
Ten yards is far enough to break a wheel.
The peril of love is not in loving too often;
A single evening can leave its wound in the soul.
poem by Meng Chiao
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Childhood Is...
Childhood is hanging your pictures on the refrigerator, and tea parties you always have to cater.
Childhood is chasing butterflies and picking flowers,
playing with blocks and making towers.
Childhood is hating nap time,
and thinking everything is always MINE
Childhood is crayons and coloring books,
Playing hide and go seek in all the right nooks.
Childhood is falling asleep to your favorite lullaby,
wishing you had wings so you could soar into the sky.
Childhood is only crying over a scrapped knee,
or being stung by a bumble bee
Childhood is thinking boys have cooties,
or your mom making you wear itchy booties.
Childhood is ruining mommy's new leather,
and making friends and keeping them forever.
Childhood finally ends,
When you start to grow up,
And not having to drink out of a sippy cup
poem by Shenika Vermaak
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Little Toy Soldier
Once upon a time there was a toy soldier and he lived in the play room
Once upon a time there was a toy soldier with a whip lash in his hand
And every night little girl sadie would take all her clothes off and wind up the toy soldier and he raised his whip and said
On your knees little sadie
Little sadie on your knees
Taste the whip and love might given likely
Taste the whip and bleed for me
Little sadie loved her little toy soldier
And she run home from school each day
Little sadie loved her little toy soldier
And she locked her door so she could play
Little sadie got ambitious
And wound the clockworks so to tighter
So he could whip her harder and harder
On your knees little sadie
Little sadie on your knees
Taste the whip and love might given likely
Taste the whip and bleed for me
One day sadie wound and wound
And wound and wound
And wound and wound
Til suddenly the little toy soldier spring, went. . .
(ugly, beat her to death)
Ahhhh
Cough, cough, cough
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Faithful Trust
There’s nothing to offer to those ignoble vows
But a long wail of dejection if this heart allows
Trust has come to open the wound
Averment carries no word for word
The misguided mind has become the guard
Trust has come to open the wound
A solemn promise’s been made to none
With faithlessness it is believed to have gone
Trust has come to open the wound
The wound that's trapped into bleeding emotion
To heal the pain it drinks the potion
Then trust has gone with its faithful notion
And everything fades with that true devotion.
Written on the night of the 23rd of October,2010
©Munia Khan 2010
poem by Munia Khan
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A knife-wound heals, but a tongue-wound festers.
A knife wound heals; a wound caused by words does not.
A knife-wound heals, but a tongue wound festers.
Childhood Dreams
Sunlight peeps thru closed curtains
like a sleepy child, nodding in - out
yet you sleep. the wave of pre-dawn
passion, renaming lost childhood dreams
I often wonder about some childhood friend,
how at the time we were pardners, for life
what has become of him? is he sitting
somewhere with a cup of coffee?
I touch your skin, to gently introduce you
to a new day, and you with a smile, say
'I was just dreaming about you' thus
leaving my thoughts of childhood friends
poem by Joe Howell
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Nucleus
How can you take away the nucleus
and expect everything outside of it
to stay mended together with strength?
A family is held together by a bandage.
You take away the bandage and you got a wound.
Sometimes a wound can heal on its own
and sometimes it can get infected or never heal.
I've seen it all before, the bandages go away
and then the wound that is left attacks itself.
The skin, the blood, the puss, and all the cells
that were once held together by one bandage
turn on itself and then it all melts as if touched by acid.
I don't think that will happen to our wound.
I think we'll all band together and form a new bandage.
It might not be one person holding it all together,
but it will be all of us coming together
like hospital staff to make sure we don't die of an infection.
poem by Cokbod Lodwogo
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A Wound On His Forehead
he scratched it accidentally
perhaps when he was asleep
as he was wont
to raise his arms on his forehead,
and with uncut nails
he caused a wound therein
infected by his carelessness
his hand touching
barely almost anything dirty
he looks at himself on the mirror
studying
the gaping wound like an
eye staring back at him
asking
why should a man raise his hands
even when asleep?
and why should he wound himself
unnecessarily?
why does he not care about
the possibility of the complexity of an infection
that may even
cause his death?
is this the kind of surrender
he had dreamed of inside his dream?
his way of finally giving up life
since it left him with nothing to offer?
he looks at himself closely
now, he becomes a strange man staring at
another man he thought
he knew too well.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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