Children, not the laughter and giggles in courtyards,
but rather the unwritten manifestos of a future,
which we, with blind ambition,
are making incomplete
In their eyes, are twinkling stars,
glowing torches of questions
which we try to extinguish,
with our mechanical answers.
But every answer is a latticed wall,
every question a hammer's blow against that wall
When they play with mud,
they are learning,
a connection to their traditions and roots
The dust on their palms
is the first memory of the world
which we, in our glittering cities,
want to forget
When they fall,
the earth does not punish them
the earth falls with them,
rises with them, but we?
We make their downfall a crime
They make mistakes,
but they aren't mistakes,
they are experiments, like a river,
that create new currents among the rocks.
But we crush every experiment
with the stick of discipline
