childrens poetry
Nostalgia-inducing poetry inspired by our earliest favorites; from Dr. Seuss to Mother Goose, children’s poetry is all grown up.
Sign's of the Divine
In a spring season, When the wind breezes, The fragrance of flowers Fills the heart with joy and happiness. The wind that cools the heart, When you are on the way to the beach, Accompanied by four nephews. Around the path are green fields, Amid which stand peach trees, Their buds just beginning to open. The farmers in the fields, Working with bent mood, Are cutting crops with sickles. The noise of the sea Overflows with in my ears, Gives a message of eternity. Along the beachside, birds on trees Welcome weary travellers With their cheerful chirping. And the flowers, with their smiling faces, Whisper a message of happiness. A reflection of sun Is seen in the sea's water, Where countless stars seems to shine Like Stars in the sky. Though shinning like stars, They look like diamonds Glittering on the sea's surface. A lot of ideas strike me– To write about the eternity of nature's beauty– But time is very short. Yet, in all these natural scenes, One finds proof of Allah's presence And the fact of his oneness. By: Majid Ullah Danish
By Majid Ullahabout a year ago in Poets
When the Moon Loved a Girl
She strolled unshod through midnight, not since the world had harmed her, but since it had overlooked her. Her heart was delicate thunder wrapped in quiet, reverberating in places no one challenged to listen. Each evening, she climbed the slope behind her little town, where the wind whispered privileged insights through pine trees and the sky extended wide sufficient to hold her pity. The moon observed her. Not like a man observes a lady, but like a soul recognizes another soul still learning how to sparkle through the breaks. The stars flickered over, flashing in deference, but it was the moon that remained. Each night. Immovable. Calm. Steadfast. He never inquired her to grin. Never requested delight from her distress. Instep, he reflected the delicate silver of her despondency, making it see like enchantment. She would whisper her considerations into the sky. "Will I ever be more than nearly?" "Will somebody remain, indeed when I am unloveable?" The moon never replied in words, but his light continuously extended a small closer, brushing her cheek like a guarantee, like: "You as of now are." And so, a young lady who felt like sunset started to gleam in pieces. A few evenings, she would chuckle once more. And in spite of the fact that her giggling was broken like porcelain, the moon held each shard as sacrosanct. There came a time she didn't cry as much. She begun planting blooms at the best of the slope. To begin with violets, at that point lavender, at that point sunflowers— like trust sprouting beneath the night sky. And the moon? He gleamed brighter. Since adoring her didn't cruel sparing her. It implied seeing her gotten to be her claim protect. One night, she remained a small longer on the slope, eyes closed, palms open to the stars. And after that she whispered, “I think I'm affirm now.” The moon did not dim. He did not turn absent in pity. Instep, he shone with calm delight, knowing that he had never been her light— as it were the reflect to assist her discover her claim. And as she strolled back down the slope, the night still wrapped around her, but so did the warmth of something else— a self rebuilt, a heart re-bloomed, a young lady now not holding up to be chosen since she had chosen herself. Still, when the moon looks down, he grins delicately. For in his noiseless, ethereal way, he had cherished a young lady. And she had at last learned to adore herself.
By Maharuf Islamabout a year ago in Poets
Dear, Sweet Lamb
Dear Sweet Lamb, Find a pasture that allows you to be at ease. Find another lamb that sees the world and the layers of eternity in the same way as you do. Find another lamb who sings with you, no matter what. Find another lamb who cries when you cry, with consistency and compassion. Don’t consider a lamb who just makes logical sense. Don’t consider a lamb who doesn’t declare your utter beauty from the highest rock place. Find a lamb that you can walk with. Find a lamb who pulls you up, when you fall by the wayside.
By Rowan Finley about a year ago in Poets
