The Child
A child embodies innocence and simplicity, serving as a source of joy that adds color to life. Children are gentle souls who cherish peace and find joy in play. Childhood represents one of the most beautiful phases of life, where we create moments etched in memory, relishing experiences without concern for challenges and worries. Who among us does not wish to return to their childhood? In this article, we will explore the most delightful insights shared by writers regarding children and childhood.
Quotes About Children
- The beauty of childhood lies in the innocence reflected on children’s faces and the joy evident in their interactions.
- Childhood is a pristine blank slate filled with purity, bright smiles, pure hearts, and innocent souls.
- A young girl, when overwhelmed by sorrow, finds comfort in the droplets of rain. If her worries multiply, the moonlight alleviates her pain, allowing her to drift into sleep with a gentle kiss, bidding farewell to wakefulness.
- Childhood resembles a lush tree offering shade, its vibrant branches bearing the fruits of acceptance and joy.
- Childhood is a treasure; within their smiles lies innocence, and in their interactions, simplicity prevails. They harbor no hatred or envy, and even in misfortune, they show remarkable resilience.
- If wronged today, they forgive tomorrow, for their hearts are innocent and free from grudges.
- Children embrace the present, living fully in the moment, without contemplating their future or what lies ahead.
- Their qualities may be childlike, yet they are beautiful and enchanting. What makes them even more remarkable is that we, as adults, can learn from their art of interaction and adopt their pure-heartedness and clarity of spirit.
- Childhood is a season of blooming flowers and a garland of jasmine that adorns the essence of life.
- It embodies sweet breaths, fragrant essence, and nurturing rains.
- Childhood is a time of mischief and playfulness, casting shy glances filled with innocence and kindness, wishing to conquer the world, where no weak heart suffers nor orphans weep, nor does any land endure strife.
- Childhood is a dream tale, a poem of hope, and a moment of sweetness.
- Children offer you their complete emotions, filled with love, respect, and attachment.
Reflections on Childhood
Reflection One:
I call out from within, I am but a little child; please cherish my innocent dreams and do not cast away the girl within me. Let me chase butterflies in joy and pick flowers in my playfulness, racing with the river in naive bliss. When I tire, I’ll rest upon the green grass, forgetting my femininity, for I am a child, and I wish to remain a child.
Reflection Two:
Childhood is a vibrant, velvety realm, adorned with hearts that shine like pearls, and spirits that embody purity. It connects you to the beautiful torrents of nature. It is a tree of purity, rich with shade and bearing the fruits of acceptance and pleasure. Childhood stands as a memory of joyful times, radiating innocence and clarity. Back then, we counted the days and years until we grew up, only to wish, in our maturity, to retain the delightful essence of our childhood forever.
Reflection Three:
As I flip through the fragrant pages of my life’s records, I remember days filled with laughter and vibrance, rich in youthful spirit and intertwined with the gardens of genuine love that embrace my windows, carrying the fragrance of the jasmine blooming at dawn, rekindling the purity of the soul. The world of childhood is one only understood by those who have genuinely lived it, where love and innocence bind everyone together, free from bitterness and malice.
Reflection Four:
Wise are the children; they laugh freely and cry as they wish, while adults suffer from the malady of pride. Be like a child; delight in your possessions, no matter how small, and do not compare your belongings with others, as this deprives you of joy in what you have. I long for the time when I believed that my problems could dissolve with a piece of chocolate. Alas, I mourn the beautiful dreams lost and the splendid world we once viewed through innocent eyes.
A Child at Rest
Ibrahim Al-Munzer, whose full name is Ibrahim bin Michael bin Munzer bin Kamal Abu Rajeh, hails from the Bani Al-Malouf clan, related to the Ghassanids. He studied law and made his mark in journalism, leading various organizations. Among his works are five novels and a book entitled ‘Al-Munzer and the World.’ In one of his poignant poems, he expressed:
The child lay resting on his bed
and in the fire, his heart was fed.
A fever came down upon him
leaving a heart aglow, dread.
And death sent an angel down
bearing wings to take the child ahead.
The mother knelt with tearful eyes,
drawing forth her sorrow, tears widespread.
No sound was heard around the house,
save her sobs; happiness had fled.
Then came his sister, soft and sweet,
with burdens of her lessons, she tread.
She was like a full moon shining bright,
her light swayed; she bent her head.
She came to find him on that bed,
not knowing he had left instead.
“O dear brother, my soul, my love,
what has befallen you? Speak, defend!”
“You were our joy at dawn’s embrace,
now gone, there’s no joy, no friend.”
She gazed toward the heavens in prayer,
and saw the angel of death descend.
“What do you want, my only joy?
Let him live, for happiness shall blend.
If you desire a sacrifice,
I will be the one to, willingly, wend.”
Then the angel bowed low to her,
“Follow me, for an ending must mend.”
She walked past her garden fair,
where beauty and joy do commend.
She saw her study friends, leaping like deer,
filled with joy, while laughter transcends.
And flowers, once lively, now pale on their stalks,
made garlands adorned on their heads.
And she envisioned a grave to keep him,
to encompass and cradle his dead.
And she wept, her heart trembling so;
she wished never to part of this stead.
“I have a father who is kind to me,
and a mother who is broken and bled.
And I have a love, extending his hand,
Shall I willingly reach for the dead?”
Her strength dwindled, consumed by despair,
“Have mercy on me, for my heart’s been shred.”
“Return,” said the angel; and so she departed,
while death’s shadow loomed over the bed.
Then came the father, hurrying in stress,
searching the house, his child misled.
He saw his son, wan and fading away,
while the mother wept, heavy with dread.
He clasped his child in his hands,
while with the other, he soothed her instead.
And there stood the angel of death above them,
casting a shadow, as terror spread.
“This is my only boy, oh angel,
I hold no other support for my stead.
Let him live here; outside paradise,
Like the full moon in its beauty bled.
But if sacrifice is your decree,
I shall give myself for this child’s shed.”
The angel spoke, “Follow me to the end,”
so trembling, the father followed, dread.
Through the streets they passed, where each soul,
was busy and striving, no tears shed.
Some trade, some barter; each to their own,
their goods and wares, in hopes of bread.
And friends gathered, laughing and jovial,
while gardens were rich with colors spread.
When the father perceived their joy,
he wept; his heart felt heavy as lead.
“I am still young, I have dreams,”
for life is precious—I wish to tread.
For this life is dear, no jaunt to the void,
Who would yearn for death’s morbid bed?”
The angel answered, “Return, dear man,
Augment your life and build your thread.”
He spread his wings wide over the ill child,
surrounding his feeble frame, love fled.
The child exhaled softly, breathing his last,
his beauty fading, his body lay dead.
The mother, kneeling without hope,
in her sorrow found no strength left to tread.
“My Lord, where art thou?” she cried,
“Is there no balm for my burdens spread?
Must I see my only love slip away,
Awaken tomorrow, and find none ahead?”
As if a lioness roused, she rose,
seeing the angel of death left dread.
“Go, angel, to the void!” she yelled,
while the angel, in awe, had stepped.
Desperately I see the maidens wandering,
dressed in the flowers of the wild, bereft.
Feels like the earth is brimming with beauty,
while its people have declined, deft.
“Hasten to me, for I shall not live;
The universe has shaken, it’s upset.
How many have twisted the truth and lied,
about their Lord, and falsehood, well-kept?
How many a backbiter, deceitful in thought,
hides his poison, truth decept?
The sword slays every genius’ dream,
and the prisons bury the wise, inept.
Neither ear perceives the truth or its depth,
nor the eye sees your illusions kept.
All I possess is my heart, my child,
Sever my life, and nourish what’s left.”
With that, she approached death’s hand and said,
“Stand still; take care of the adept.
You, who deserve life, return forthwith,
For this servant before you, has bowed here, except.
Return to your son; his heart is yearning,
For a mother’s love surpasses all debts.
Love endures within you, and outside of:
There is no shelter as warm as a mother, blessed.”
She returned to find her son awake,
his smile beaming, her worries set.
“Mother, my soul,” he called out gently,
as she spread her arms to uphold her asset.
The two embraced, as they melded in joy,
for there exists no singular cast.
To the heavens she raised her gaze,
with tearful gratitude, for her prayer was met.