Beautiful Poems About Childhood
- Poet Ibrahim Al-Mazni reflects on childhood in his poem:
May God preserve the days of childhood, for they
Are blissful and joyous despite their ignorance.
In the nights, I believed the universe was mine, and that I
Borrowed the floral stars to illuminate my beauty.
And I considered the depths of the earth, the sea, and the night
As havens for the terrifying spirits.
I pour forth what my eyes consume of its substance
And I share with it the feelings of my life.
If I hurt myself, I cried out, and I did not care
And I healed my sorrow with my tears.
I never knew the taste of worry,
And nothing was estranged from my hopes.
Nor did I cover my soul with garments of fear,
And unsettle her from where dreams awaken.
Every smile of mine soothed others
And I received compassion from those who saw me in distress.
People treated me with joy as if,
God had preserved my heart from all burdens.
I had a share in every joy as if I were
Competing with others to fulfill my desires.
O Lord, bestow upon me what You have taken from me
And replace it with patience sufficient for my sorrows.
Days have indeed outstripped me;
And the hands of calamities have demolished my structure.
I am cast into the depths of despair
Adeeper than a long stretch of time that does not care for my plight.
And soon, a star that I once ignited will extinguish,
And when it dims, it will not find refuge in time.
My burdens weigh heavily on me, rendering me motionless,
I no longer lift my gaze toward my sky.
I’ve been worn down like forsaken ruins; do you see
The struggles of days, O heart, are you not liberated?
- In his work “Childhood of the Cloud,” poet Idris Al-‘Aloush writes:
The pulse of joy is a butterfly,
As is the rhythm of the heart.
Like a bee,
A cloud dangles like the childhood of time,
A soft mist.
Boats travel
Towards the towers of gardens,
And sad swans draw close
To the shore’s pearls,
To reveal the lovely algae’s wedding!
The evening brings me sweetness filled
With basil and lilies.
Whenever salty tears invade me,
I sing the ocean’s verse
And the child’s stubbornness.
I was a child
And I still am,
Sometimes teasing the mirage,
And sometimes searching for the burnt remnants
Of time
To weep for them…
Poem of Childhood Memories
- Poet Nazik Al-Malaika expresses:
My seat remains atop the sand hill,
Listening to the anthems of my past.
I am still a child, yet I have
Increased my ignorance of the essence of my age and self.
I wish I could stay as I once was: a heart
Filled only with light and purity.
Every day, I build my life more beautifully,
And I do not forget when the evening descends.
In the shadows of the palms, I erect castles
And palaces built on sand.
Alas, life, where are my sands
And my palaces? How did my shadows disappear?
Oh, mound of sand, what do you see
Of the city of dreams?
Where are its lofty towers? Are they hidden
Beyond time in illusions?
The mist has vanished; I am no longer a child
Hoping for the morning bird every dawn.
I no longer perceive life as once I did:
A nectar dissolving in my cups.
I no longer gaze at the sky from my lovely cradle,
Or admire the dove if it sings and I play by the stream.
How many flowers I gathered, and how many fragrances
Were stolen by life that left nothing.
How many poems I crafted, only to see them dissipate
And their memory remains in my hands.
Yesterday I was the throne, oh mound of sand,
Now there is nothing but a mound.
The chirping of birds echoed my anthems
And bliss followed my shadow.
This existence was my great kingdom;
Oh, how I wish it would return to me.
I wish the mound of sand could recover the joy
And the poetry of beauty.
I can no longer govern the flower
Or guide the stars every night.
Am I now nothing but a poet attempting
To decipher the secret of this barren, dull universe?
Lovely Verses About Children
- Poet Adonis writes:
In the warm, restless bed, love awakens,
It is a lullaby for mankind and a path for the sun.
In childhood,
The sun rises shyly;
In its footsteps, the vast universe shrinks
And eternity narrows.
For it, the earth is a never-ending cover,
And the world is a cradle.
Yesterday, I had sighs to call home,
And poverty was a lantern, while the blood flowed like oil.
I was like a shadow, moving with poverty,
My night was darkened and my eyelids illuminated.
O childhood,
O spring of the weary era and March of life,
And the love of yesterday and tomorrow.
In the morrow, you are an endless struggle
And an ambition that cannot be denied.
And tomorrow, you will be fields of glory
Creating the universe and presenting it anew.
Both struggle and wounds will enrich you,
And the pure blood of a newborn will enrich you.
O childhood,
O cherished past and future,
O spring of this weary era and March of life.
- Poet Qassem Haddad comments:
Those many children
Who race in your vicinity,
Did you choose names for them
Or will you rely on gardens?
Those innocent children
Will they rise from the depths
Or descend from the heights?
Those tiny children
I now see them as colorful fish
In the vast glass,
And you are their water.
- Poet Hafiz Ibrahim observes:
This is a wandering boy
Under the darkness, lost and confused.
Struggles have wearied him,
And his nails have worn down.
Look at his tattered clothes;
There is nothing left to show.
He does not wish to part with them
Out of fear of the harsh elements.
But they have left him,
Retreating from an innocent farewell.
I count his ribs
Underneath the troubled night.
I saw the structure of his bones,
And I remembered the inhabitants of the graves,
As if he were the living dead,
Resurrected by Jesus after Lazarus.
Memory threatens to devour him,
And the storms are about to swirl around him.
With his fragility,
He is nearly pierced by the trials
He faces in the heart of civilization.
And he is overwhelmed by the sorrows
Of children awaiting nurturing.
How many like him lie beneath the weight
Of burdens, a captive of the night.
- Poet Nazik Al-Malaika shares:
The tears of children wound, but
There’s no escape from them, oh the sorrow!
These are those granted sensitivity,
And possess nothing but tears.
Nature endowed them with a human heart,
Experiencing pain.
And fate cast them into its scales,
Leaving a body unable to speak.
So when they cry, their tears are mute,
Perhaps hiding a multitude of meanings.
Perhaps behind them lurks a painful feeling
Or a desire with the wind that vanishes.
Perhaps… perhaps… what use is presumption?
The wails of children fill life,
Born screaming between the hands of fate,
Let them scream until the day of reckoning
Hoping to understand what we fail to comprehend,
From the darkness of secrets.
And see life at night as sorrow descends,
Hanging on the fringes of fire.
They scream from the pain of suffering
Or mourn what they have lost
Or do not engage with life’s shadows,
Where existence is full of strife and violence.
There remains within them the trace of pain
Of the pure, beautiful moment or its memory,
When they roamed in an intelligent world,
Where all living things on its soil were divine,
A realm distant from darkness and decay,
Free from harsh suffering and tears,
And graves concealed in darkness;
There’s no presence of tortured souls,
Nor widows lost in the dark, or orphans.
There is no cruelty, no oppression, nor torment,
No birth nor death.
No strife over food,
No traces of tragedy in its purity.
O gathering of children with tender hearts,
Enough of this sorrow and weeping!
You are still at the very beginning of the painful journey,
And soon you shall know suffering.
Do not lament what you have lost
Of beauty, joy, and elevation.
The Most Beautiful Poetry About Childhood and Parental Love
- Poet Badawi Al-Jabal states:
A beautiful child, if it weren’t for him, I would fear
That I must distance myself and wander.
The blooming stars long for them as toys,
To choose among the sumptuous and play.
And I possess treasures of affection and mercy,
My bliss is in their pleasure and embracing them.
Oft times, a little oppression is sweetened,
And I have never seen a child with a charming injustice.
He sometimes gets angry and then is pleased, and for us
It is enough that he grants us his smiles.
If he falls ill, I wish I could
Be his ransom, the sick one in his pain.
In his desires, he is concise, as if
In his conciseness, he conveys all he wants.
He brings us joy during festivals, whether he steps,
Celebrates with joy, or accedes to my arms.
Like a fledgling, if he happens to stray away,
I pour my tears into him to quench his thirst.
I would rather have him quenched and satisfied,
While I remain thirsty in my joy upon him.
I kiss his mouth in silence at night,
Then pluck from him star after star.
He sleeps on the silk of my heart’s veil,
The cloth is pure and radiant from Yemen.
I would drape over him a cover that shelters him,
Oh, how I wish it were more tender and curved.
Accept the agony patiently,
And long for tenderness upon him, while fearing him.
I would offer the whims of calamities to him,
As if leading a spirited youth with pride.
A long while he resisted to be led, but gradually
I have endeared him, and he has accepted me.
My heart beats with many hearts,
He was once a singular force and now has multiplied.
O Lord, for the sake of childhood alone,
Bestow Your blessings of peace, both east and west.
And shield all people from harm, even if they are
Ingrate, and love them even if they are wicked.
Preserve the laughter of children, my Lord, for it is
If they sing in the desolate sand, a blessing will flourish.
Neither angels nor paradises have birthed one like them,
Forgive my transgressions regarding their nurturing.
O Lord, instill love in each child, that they may see
Even in adversity, a welcoming face.
May happiness befall them in every meeting,
And O Lord, the heart belongs to You; if You will,
Restore it, satiated and renewed.
- Poet Al-Akhital Al-Saghir writes:
O piece of my soul, you are my today and tomorrow.
O bond of my first melody and my delicate poetry.
O stature of sugar cane, with knotting soft sweetness,
Whatever sweetness increases upon it, increases in my soul.
Awaken in my mind, ignite, and sing,
Awakening dreams within me and watering them with my hands.
Twenty! Tell the sun not to depart and stop the clock.
Twenty, O fragrant one, within my parted fingers.
Twenty, cheer for spring and celebrate again.
Praise the flowers with the sister flower, thrill my spirits!
Transmit to the evening star what we have yet to tell.
O piece of my soul, you are my today and tomorrow.