Poem for Parents by Khalil Gibran

And a woman, who was breastfeeding her baby, said:
“Tell us about the children.”

And he said:
“Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of the desire of life for itself.
They are coming here through you, but are not of you, and even though they are always with you, you don’t own them.

You may give them your love, but not your thoughts, because they have their own thoughts.

You may give their bodies a house, but not their souls, because souls are living in the house of tomorrow, which you can not visit – not even in your dreams.

You may try to be like them, but never force them to be like you,
because Life never runs backwards, nor it stands still.

You are the bow, of which your children are sent into life as living arrows.

The Shooter knows and sees the aim on the path of infinity, and he strains the bow with all his power, so the arrows might fly as far and fast as possible.

Let your bow be pointed to love, and the shooter loves the flying arrow, and the bow, which is still.


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