I am taking a break from the joy of work to savor the joy of parenting.
Here I am on the little red dot with the kids without the mother. They are just under my watchful eyes. They are birds in the sky flying in formation not kites with invisible strings.
They woke me up to join them for breakfast which they prepared. Then we adjourned to the pool and they became water babies while the I get soaked into Khalil Gibran’s PROPHET.
I read to them “CHILDREN” . Here It is
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 you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them love but not your thoughts
you may house their bodies but not their souls
for their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow which you cannot vist not even in your dreams
you may strive to be like them but seek not to be 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
He bends you with His might that even His arrows may go swift and far
Let your bending in the archers hand be your gladness
for even as He loves the arrow that flies so He loves also the bow that is stable