I had been working on a thought for some time now. I had been slowly processing my thoughts and feelings so that they would come out right. Maybe I will get to process out my thoughts and I would get to write them down in a coherent way some time. For now, this poem just about sums it up.
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
Lia my daughter, though we may be inseparable now, though you are completely dependent on me now, there will come a time when you will let me go and we will go on to live our own separate lives.
Although you came from me, you are not mine, you are you and you are yours alone.