Posted in Family and Society, Personal Musings, poetry

Mayhem, but Precious

“Children are not things to be molded, but are people to be unfolded.” Jess Lair

With holidays full on, travel not an option on the cards and work aplenty on the farm; little hands and feet join in. Watching them scatter the hay and the corn, uprooting the weeds, pulling the wheelbarrow along and to see the eager smiles and chatter, are all little things to treasure away in the memory bank.

True that there may be endless questions, incomplete tasks or not done the right way, but does that kind of perfection really matter. The latter thing, i.e. perfection matters at times, while on many other cases it doesn’t. Knowing which is which is an art by itself. Funny thing is that life will make sure we learn that either now or later, in hindsight.

Amidst all this, there are days when we wish for a little peace and quiet and we rush to our “quiet time”. But even so, it’s the pitter-patter, yelling, crying, chuckles and laughter that bring a life to the house. We need a little of that and this. When we chase behind either, things then get out of synchrony. Is it worth it ? After all no matter how lopsided or soggy the cake is, it the taste of love that fills our hearts, mind and soul.

“When I approach a child, he inspires in me two sentiments — tenderness for what he is and respect for what he may become.” Louis Pasteur

On Children

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.

Kahlil Gibran