Baby's World

I wish I could take a quiet corner in the heart of my baby's very
own world.
I know it has stars that talk to him, and a sky that stoops
down to his face to amuse him with its silly clouds and rainbows.
Those who make believe to be dumb, and look as if they never
could move, come creeping to his window with their stories and with
trays crowded with bright toys.
I wish I could travel by the road that crosses baby's mind,
and out beyond all bounds;
Where messengers run errands for no cause between the kingdoms
of kings of no history;
Where Reason makes kites of her laws and flies them, the Truth
sets Fact free from its fetters.

by Rabindranath Tagore

Comments (25)

Yesterday Years: Eternal Childhood Fleeting this is the dream childhood to play endlessly during eternal summer days to barefoot explore get indifferent dirty delight in adventures imagination interacting with internalized nature swimming carefree days like an otter orbits waters leaping from bank to streams surface to depth wonders before adulthood responsibilities cage close opportunity windows Copyright © Terence George Craddock Inspired by the poem 'A Barefoot Boy' by James Whitcomb Riley. Dedicated to the poet James Whitcomb Riley.
This is the dream childhood, to play endlessly during summer days, to barefoot explore, get dirty, delight in adventures of imagination interacting with nature, swimming carefree days before responsibilities of adulthood, beautifully written.
The Great Child's Poet! I lived in his home town for years as a younger man. I've always pictured him sitting upon his porch on a warming summer day, as I suppose was most customary in his day, as perchance neighbor children out to play, might slovenly come round his way. And he with great authority might say, the things that make them boys at play....
The poet has poured all his soul.
The poet is drawing mere comparisons between the sound produced by the barefoot boy's toe-nails and that produced when those who have pocketbook clasp on it; the poet isn't saying this has one. The poet closed his with a simile, not a metaphor. This poem is the epitome of an imagery - the poet creates in the reader's mind the scenes surrounding this boy at moments, from the start of the poem to the endings.
See More