Back To My Childhood
My childhood was the best days I spent
With my besy mates and friends.
But when I turned back,
They had been the days of disappearance.
Where are all the mates,
I played with?
Where are all the laughs,
I laughed?
All the cares I have taken,
Have they vanished?
The whole world has changed
Without any signs of replacement.
The mountains have become deserts
The deserts have become plains
The plains have become,
The place of sadness
Where there is no sight of happiness.
So never look back in your childhood
The only remains
Will be the plains.
poem by Purna Vindhya
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Related quotes
Native Companions Dancing
On the blue plains in wintry days
The stately birds move in the dance.
Keen eyes have they, and quaint old ways
On the blue plains in wintry days.
The Wind, their unseen Piper, plays,
They strut, salute, reatreat, advance;
On the blue plains, in wintry days,
These stately birds move in the dance
poem by John Shaw Neilson
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Desert Plains
Full moon is rising
The sky is black
I need your call Im coming back
The road is straight cast
Winds in my eyes
The engine roars between my thighs
From desert plains I bring you love
From desert plains I bring you love
Wild mountain thunder
Echoes my quest
My body aches but Ill not rest
Quartz light to guide me
Till sunrise leads
My passion screams, my heart it bleeds
From desert plains I bring you love
From desert plains I bring you love
Then in the distance
I see you stand
On the horizon you raise your hand
In burning rubber
I end my quest
You fall into my arms at last
From desert plains I bring you love
From desert plains I bring you love
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Accept now my dear friend
that there are days and nights
yin and yang
darkness and light
open highways and dead ends
that if there are daughters of Chaste
there too are the daughters of Lust
that if there are sons of Love
too there are sons of Hate
that there are mountains and plains
seas and deserts
prey and predator
victors and victims
accept my dear friend that this world is round
inside and out
rings of fire
depths of trenches
do not settle for the illusion of peace
and disregard the reality of war
accept my friend
there are fakes and genuines
morons and geniuses
blacks and whites and lots of shades between them
shallows and deeps
tongues and toes
embrace those days of sacrifices
and those other days of paradises
and when you have learned all these
you shall have taken wisdom in
have seen life at its peaks and lows
live it
the way it is.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Victoria, State Of Beauty
The beauty of her mountains, plains and deserts.
To cross her borders causes me hurt.
She has lakes of sweetest blue.
And ghost gums both crooked and true
I'm happy just to stand and watch for hours,
Her wildlife and country flowers.
And old wooden bridges live in the country,
Steel in the city bejeweled with artistry.
Her roads lead to places of beauty and delight,
Breathe taking, and rocky thrilling sights.
She is a tapestry of snow and sun,
Deserts and high mountains where cattle did run.
As a welcoming gesture she holds out her arms,
To all who would experience her charms.
So come and taste big city shopping arcades,
And greenery with forest shades.
We fell in love with the land
We fell in love with the land
when it became ours
going to explore
the plains, the deserts and mountains
and shook
Holland and England from us,
like a dog does
when its fur gets wet from water
and our reality is here and now
and even though at times things are grey
as if the new government want to gorge us down,
we can regard no other place as our own
we have lost our hearts here
there’s no other land that charms us as much,
no other horizon that is so own to us
of which we hear the heartbeat in our own.
[Reference: The Gift Outright by Robert Frost.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Official education was telling people almost nothing of the nature of all those things on the seashores, and in the redwood forests, in the deserts and in the plains.
quote by Gregory Bateson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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About the longevity
It is not that the rich outlive the poor
Or one race outlives the other races.
So is for those in plains and deserts.
Longevity escapes calculations.
10.05.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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When did it..
When did it go away?
Those happy moments...Those loving moments...Those peaceful days...The light of day...The childhood I once had...It's been so long...Did i even have those things?
When did it take over?
Sadness...Faded happiness
Hate...Turned my heart dark
Insanity...Trapped me in it's world
Darkness...Covers my light
Voices...Killed my childhood
It's been so long...It's been so long...
Unlock this door...Set me free
poem by Jessica Hernandez
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Never, Never Land
By hut, homestead and shearing shed,
By railroad, coach and track-
By lonely graves where rest the dead,
Up-Country and Out-Back:
To where beneath the clustered stars
The dreamy plains expand-
My home lies wide a thousand miles
In Never-Never Land.
It lies beyond the farming belt,
Wide wastes of scrub and plain,
A blazing desert in the drought,
A lake-land after rain;
To the skyline sweeps the waving grass,
Or whirls the scorching sand-
A phantom land, a mystic realm!
The Never-Never Land.
Where lone Mount Desolation lies
Mounts Dreadful and Despair-
'Tis lost beneath the rainless skies
In hopeless deserts there;
It spreads nor-west by No-Man's Land
Where clouds are seldom seen
To where the cattle stations lie
Three hundred miles between.
The drovers of the Great Stock Routes
The strange Gulf country Know
Where, travelling from the southern droughts,
The big lean bullocks go;
And camped by night where plains lie wide,
Like some old ocean's bed,
The watchmen in the starlight ride
Round fifteen hundred head.
Lest in the city I forget
True mateship after all,
My water-bag and billy yet
Are hanging on the wall;
And I, to save my soul again,
Would tramp to sunsets grand
With sad-eyed mates across the plain
In Never-Never Land.
poem by Henry Lawson
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By Hut, Homestead And Shearing Shed,
By hut, homestead and shearing shed,
By railroad, coach and track-
By lonely graves where rest the dead,
Up-Country and Out-Back:
To where beneath the clustered stars
The dreamy plains expand-
My home lies wide a thousand miles
In Never-Never Land.
It lies beyond the farming belt,
Wide wastes of scrub and plain,
A blazing desert in the drought,
A lake-land after rain;
To the skyline sweeps the waving grass,
Or whirls the scorching sand-
A phantom land, a mystic realm!
The Never-Never Land.
Where lone Mount Desolation lies
Mounts Dreadful and Despair-
'Tis lost beneath the rainless skies
In hopeless deserts there;
It spreads nor-west by No-Man's Land
Where clouds are seldom seen
To where the cattle stations lie
Three hundred miles between.
The drovers of the Great Stock Routes
The strange Gulf country Know
Where, travelling from the southern droughts,
The big lean bullocks go;
And camped by night where plains lie wide,
Like some old ocean's bed,
The watchmen in the starlight ride
Round fifteen hundred head.
Lest in the city I forget
True mateship after all,
My water-bag and billy yet
Are hanging on the wall;
And I, to save my soul again,
Would tramp to sunsets grand
With sad-eyed mates across the plain
In Never-Never Land.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Sometimes Its As If My Childhood Days Come Back
Sometimes it's as if my childhood days come back
and it's as if the colour and texture catches me
when I am astounded by the sheer beauty of things,
by the smell of flowers hanging in the air,
where I see clouds as flakes,
and it's as if the colour and texture catches me
that is spread over the bright blue in small pieces
that brings me back to another time and place
where I see clouds as flakes,
and I am again full of joy and happiness
and the whole sky is full with specks between the blue and white
that brings me back to another time and place,
to the memories of my childhood days
when I see the summer sun rising golden
and the whole sky is full with specks between the blue and white
and the birds and insects are of the loveliness some proof.
Sometimes it's as if my childhood days come back
when I see the summer sun rising golden,
when I am astounded by the sheer beauty of things.
poem by Gert Strydom
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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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Good Ole Days
Oh, the good ole days,
why can't this day be,
the good ole days
thinking of those days,
long ago, when old age,
was on the horizon,
childhood just a step behind,
yesterday just a memory,
childhood memories when,
oh, so carefree
today the present,
will be those good ole days,
when old age is upon us
we once again wished we
were back in time and,
oh so care free.
wrote 12-31-06
SnAkE oN mY bAcK
snake on the ground slithers. The plains scream out in fear, it slides onto my back and forces out my red tears. into my thought i can now see how foolishly i used to be. I remember the snake on my back and how i remember i should have fought back. The trees dance in scilence the fire now devoures the plains, the snake told me to forget my name. I threw the snake off my back with no sound forcefully it lay dead by the ground. Now i can feel the snake beneath my feet.
poem by Ben Sparaco
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My Cycle Days
The childhood days
which were full of craze.
i spent my day,
fighting with my cycle,
i just hate it.
hating them,
still making them best friend,
this makes my childhood days my cycle days.
poem by Aashka Thakkar
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Our Childhood Reminiscences
But this is how we were when kids;
And this is how most passed childhood;
We dressed and played all kinds of games;
We never knew what risks, life brings.
Our childhood life was best of all;
Our parents met our every want;
What love they gave, we can’t repay;
Our lives went off in dreams and play.
Those pleasant days cannot come back;
The memories are evergreen;
As children we were angelic!
Oh, what a change when now adults!
Those were the days of real joy;
A little pain was there, sometimes;
To most, it was a care-free life;
We wish but can’t go back in time!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 11-27-2007
poem by John Celes
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I miss my childhood
I miss my childhood,
Miss my mommy’s lap,
The lullabies that my grandpa sung,
The breakfast my granny prepared for me.
I miss my childhood,
Miss the brother-sister fights,
The way the small secrets we kept,
The days we dreamt of becoming someone big.
I miss my childhood,
Miss the friends’, who were never mean,
The teacher so caring,
The playground where we played for hours’.
I miss my childhood,
Miss my dad’s arms which did hold me and wrapped me throughout,
The chocolates he bought so frequently,
The wonder rides he took me to.
I miss my childhood,
Miss the tree where I sat for hours,
The teddy which was my life,
And the way you consoled me dad whenever I cried….
@copyrights reserved with Author.
poem by Jinal Oswal
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Christmas For Cowboys
Tall in the saddle, we spend christmas day, driving the cattle on the snow
Covered-plains.
All of the good gifts given today, ours is the sky and the wide open range.
Back in the city they have different ways, football and eggnog and christmas
Parades.
Ill take the blanket, Ill take the reins, christmas for cowboys and wide-open
Plains.
A campfire for warmth as we stop for the night, the stars overhead are
Christmas tree lights.
The wind sings a hymn as we bow down to pray, christmas for cowboys and
Wide-open plains.
Tall in the saddle we spend christmas day, driving the cattle on the
Snow-covered plains.
So many gifts have been opened today, ours is the sky and the wide open range.
Its christmas for cowboys and wide open plains.
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Days When We Were Young
Sister! Sister! don't you remember
The days when we were young?
The long, long days, with a light and a shade
Like the pearls of a necklace strung,
Like the pearls of a necklace strung?
They are gone, with all our yesterdays --
We seek their like in vain;
But we will shed no tears for them
While the bright todays remain,
While the bright todays remain.
Sister! Sister! don't you remember
The days when we were young?
The homely house in the fat, far away,
Where the love of our childhood clung,
Where the love of our childhood clung?
There is naught to mark that sacred spot,
Save now the beaten loam;
Yet distant altars have we rear'd
In the bless-ed name of home,
In the bless-ed name of home.
Sister! Sister! don't you remember
The days when we were young?
The mates of childhood -- the friend of our youth --
We companion'd and lov'd among,
We companion'd and lov'd among?
Some are wand'ring far, and some in death
Have closed their weary eyes;
But we rejoice in new found friends,
While we weep for broken ties,
While we weep for broken ties.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Riposte
Come back to me my days of
Past,
In your arms my life would last,
No knowledge is divine but ignorance,
My present is blessed
with your remembrance
I want to relive in full glory
the days of childhood,
In this lustful materialistic world
Nothing seems so good.
Like a kid again I falter to speak
Creating language of my own
Better than many senseless sermon.
To laugh to giggle endlessly
Now my amusements are so empty.
To walk around hand in hand
Mom and dad on either side
With my bare foot touching the sand,
Along the trees adorned road
Now I am deserted in a crowd.
Bring back those little friends
With their radiant smile,
That had been missing for a while.
It’s hard to face reality,
My life lacks the simplicity
Like that of my childhood,
For many years to come
Nothing will ever be so fine,
So comeback if you can
The past days of mine.
poem by Seema Aarella
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