Before I write about my own children, I would like to quote Khalil Gibran , and what he spoke about children. They are beautiful words and an insight and a lesson to parents, I suppose, so relevant in today’s competitive world, where parents get hyper about raising their children.
And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, “Speak to us of Children.”
And he said:
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.
NOW FOR MY POEM :
( There is so much I would like to pen down about my children, whom I consider as God’s blessings to me. I may keep adding on, but for now, this shall suffice.)
These two little babies,
the best in the world,
are mine own,
The two bright lively creatures,
Vandita and Varun.
So similar, yet so apart,
One a geek, the other too soft at heart.
One a bright spark, monstrously independent,
the other an unimaginably deep thinker,
and so determined.
Both gentle peace loving souls,
admirably enjoy whatever life doles.
Little are their needs, wonder
if the lord up there never in them did put a portion of greed.
Alas! Ambitious they are not,
in competition they do not indulge.
Such brilliance!! The intellectual assets they possess,
Is something for which the world would obsess.
So to put in use their honourable intentions,
is what all wise people would solemnly mention.
Raw and vulnerable is Varun,
in need of guidance,
amusing and nerdy, yet so sturdy.
Vandita,with her wit and humour,
she has many a friend,
eager to hear her mettlesome banter.
Affectionate and smart, she was always from the start.
They’re foodies, both with tastes differing,
In their mother they don’t see much of a cook thing happening.
They look up to their pa,
who loves to spoil them, but his rules are firm,
to make them strong is what he yearns.
They are the gen next,
determined never to quit,
they face challenges bravely.
The warrior genes dominant in them maybe.
Their ornament is their simplicity,
a rare virtue today,
which seldom finds complicity.
I am their best friend,
with whom they share their joys and sorrows,
proud they will make me,
my blessings for their morrows.
Their future lies in their hands,
May it forever be bright, happy peaceful and healthy,
May they in their sensitivity be supremely wealthy.
May they climb mountains and attain heights,
May their successes take many a flight.
Betwixt the two immeasurable love abounds ,
brother and sister, in them gardens of affection are found.
Vilifiers they are not,
denounce goons and buffoonery,
attacking people, they do not find necessary.
A small prayer I do say for them, dear Lord,
Please keep them safe,in love, and in good health,
In whatever they do, strike a passionate chord.