Child, My Own Child! Poem by sophia hayyat
Child, My Own Child!
Child my own child
Nurturing in my womb
Ever since I got consciousness.
Ever since my senses started interpreting things.
Things which appeared one thing at sight
And another in mind.
It is still in my womb but with slight progress; it’s bulging out.
Bulge; though, still too small to be visible
But to keen eye.
Mothers always know as it’s
Never something to be seen but ot be felt.
Mothers are best at conceiving
And feeling the joy, the fear,
And the excitement is best known to the pregnant.
It’s bulging out though
the one who caused it is still behind the curtain,
gone probably.
Leaving me in newly built ‘mysterious’ path
A path that no one dares to tread,
To adopt, and to feel the change.
But happy is the soul with bulge.
It’s increasing, probablypeople can see it or…
Misinterpret it, ‘not in wedding lock, how come the bulge?
Where is he? the guardian? ’
But happy is the soul with the bulge,
In new path…
My child eventually came out,
It lied in my lap with words written on it’s face,
I myself not anyone but
I, Me nursed it, caressed it, and played with it.
It slept with me, close to my chest,
I myself saw people appreciating it, praising it.
I myself with my own eyes.
I was asking my mom how to take care of it?
How to grow it best?
How to make it Attila, the Hun?
With my milk?
Joyed to have it eventually
Playing in my lap, but….
What happened! Where is it gone…
Again it turned out to be my dream.
Again what I got lying close to my chest and amid my arms was
My fluffy bear, in dim light of early morning intruding my room.
And ‘tin ton tin ton’ milk man ringing the bell…
Nice strange poem...Giving birth to a child or a poem both are the same dreamful and motherly experiences...But why to make it Hunish? Why to make it an assailant?
When even dream is so sweet, how sweet will be the reality! ! ! ... only a woman can know. CP
the excitement is best known to the pregnant. It’s bulging out though the one who caused it is still behind the curtain, gone probably. Leaving me in newly built ‘mysterious’ path A path that no one dares to tread, To adopt, and to feel the change. But happy is the soul with bulge. It’s increasing, probablypeople can see
Child my own child Nurturing in my womb Ever since I got consciousness. Ever since my senses started interpreting things. Things which appeared one thing at sight And another in mind. It is still in my womb but with slight progress; it’s bulging out. Bulge; though, still too small to be visible But to keen eye..... What would be more enjoyable than these lines, Believe me, It is one of the great poems I have read in this poemhunter...Excellent expressions....No words is sufficient to praise this one....great job.
wow..it seems to me a love song for a cute child.. the way you presented him or her your love is fantastic and soul touching one.. hey, you seem a realistic and your thoughts are reality based.. love this type of poetry and hope you never stop writing poems.. appreciate your words.. and the way you write..10/10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 3:13:42 AM # 1.0.0.1119
o what a poem dear poet! Carry on..