Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Anggita May 17
yesterday my thoughts lost in the pines
i heard a rustling of leaves crooned
the sunlight sheepishly trespassed between the thick branches
and I stepped forward, and I slipped
then I stood up seeing the hollow
it was left ajar
although undeterred, I was afraid
of uncertainties thrilling my veins
suddenly my body flitted like water roaming in a drainway
my mouth spoke an unknown language
of pain
and ache
unfamiliar faces cherished my appearance
it was vague, not that dim
and they said I was born.
I brought her to the hospital
And I know she is in pain
She says she’ll die today
But I know she’d sustain.

As painful it may be
As fearsome it may seem
My legs are shaking deep inside
I can hear her Scream.

You’d say I can’t feel the pain
She says its life threatening
I believe she’ll do it well
This moment of awakening.

The Doctor consoles her gently
The nurses prepare the room
My heart beats fast, yet sinks a bit
My baby is about to bloom.

I watch the process in silence
My heart is aching slow
The Doctor asks her to push
Our Child will make Her Glow.

Its a Girl and She’s beautiful
I heard the Doctor say
Everyone knows I cried
Saying Happy Mothers’ Day!!

Prashant Shaurya ©

All Rights Reserved

P.S: I wrote this in the labor room while watching my wife give birth to our Daughter. It took me about 5 to 7 minutes to write till the second last stanza. I wrote the last stanza after seeing my newborn baby. My Daughter is my Universe!!
ED Greene Mar 9
This quiet night
A chilled light wind
Caresses the earth
Gently opening doors.

A candle of sage burns solemnly on the altar inside that door ajar.

The air, weighted with water settles; frosting the blades of newly sprung grass.

Spring is yours fair maiden child.  She was made for you.

Bring forth your light-
Swim safely into this Tribe.
For Nico
Your coming
A painful event
Leaving memory scars
Telling your time of existence

Markings on your back
Piercings way through your ears
Cries so loud
Calling to the other side

Looking to imaginery friends
Talking to thyself
Singing songs of thy departure

Elders paying tribute
Bowing to thy exit
Waiting for thy arrival
To depart again
This poem talks about an ancient child called "Abiku" in Nigeria culture, Yoruba culture to be precise which dies and comes back again.
Lyn-Purcell Jul 2020

Come cries of new life
Signals the war of birthing
Hands held at your side

New day, new haiku!
This one is fot Eileithyia, Goddess of Childbirth.
Personally, I dont have any kids but I have been told many stories of how hard it is to go through, contractions and all. On top of that, I have read many tragic stories where the child lives but the mother does not.
Metaphorically speaking, it sometimes can be a difficult war to truly win as for some it can be bittersweet.
I wish all mothers, new and experience joy and happiness!
Here's the link for the growing collection:
Be back tomorrow with another one!
Much love,
Lyn 💜
kevin wright Jul 2020
A stranger enters
a friend becomes
a desire is
love now forms

the way is enshrined
a universal solution
promises are insecure
a finger points the way

head bowed
hand in hand
given away
family peace a made

bound is this love
silk forms around our wrists
silk worms form a guard of honour
we reach the fluttering confectus
our free arms raised on high

wings sprout from our fingers
climbing the colours of time
looking down at distant families
the last light settles the accord

embrace the cocoon
safe from prying concerns
warm from winter chills
strands of DNA intertwined

showered in blessed waters
unravelling in harmony
spinning in union
woven of love carnal

stolen of heart
a new beat befalls
sever the laconic link
our true love emerges

adored in humility
fed with energy of life
wrapped in boundless passion
guided in the Chapel of love
love may be brief but bringing a new life into this world is eternal
SA Szumloz Jun 2020
Your skin was soft as cotton
With hands so small in mine
You'll never be forgotten
My little ray of sunshine.

Your eyes were beams of light,
Adjusting to the world around you
You didn't leave without a fight
My son so pure and true.

Not a day passes by
That I don't think of you
Sometimes, I can just die
Knowing you left too soon.

My son, how can I move on
If you're not gone?
Princess Chisom May 2020
On the day before Adamma's birth
Mama came visiting
She said she had a rough night
And she couldn't stop thinking about me

On the day before Adamma's birth
Mama made me peppersoup
The whole house had the heavy aroma
Of Uziza and Uda spices

On the day before Adamma's birth
My husband kissed me tenderly
And laughed when I said I wanted frozen peppersoup

On the day before Adamma's birth
The sky was beautiful
It showered light waters on the earth
I watched the beautiful scene
And absorbed it's familiar misty scent
From my special window

Mama chuckles each time she hears me call the window special
But my dark, handsome husband doesn't;
He understands every bit
We stood face to face by that window,
With extremely beautiful emotions overwhelming us
We spoke silently, our eyes passing numerous messages across
We were pregnant

And so,
On the day before Adamma's birth
We stood by that same window,
Kissing tenderly,
Reminding ourselves that our baby was on the way

On the day Adamma's was born
Light beamed on our family
Adamma's smile was light itself
And it beamed through every corner of our lives

And then I realized,
I had two babies
My baby, and My baby
*Adamma is a Nigerian-Igbo name for a female first child. It means 'beautiful daughter'.
*Uziza and Uda are traditional cooking spices used by the igbos.
Carlo C Gomez Nov 2019
I dreamt it snowed
Nectar and powdered sugar,
Dusting nature's lips.

I recall the kiss from her
Not-so-innocent curiosity,
Come-hither in her arched brow.

How the morning breeze
Grew wanton,
Lifting her nightdress,
Until naked she pirouetted about
The cloister garth.

I dreamt of flowering moonlight
And his potent stem,
Filling her
With stars and shivers,
As she burst, for goodness sake,
From all the little blissful parties
Drumming her garden wall.

I dreamt of fecundity
And funnel cakes,
Soft and sweet and round,
Her milk a spring,
Laden with gift of life.

Intuitive opaque areolae,
The shape of things to come,
The very ones from which
She'll nurse their young.
To the amazing wonder that is a woman's body
Next page