Roots

The Quiet Preparation
There is no doubt that truth finally wins.
But what about the long road she walked alone?
I asked my child, “Even if it’s hard—
Would you still choose the same?”

A child pursuing her talent—
Is a natural meditation.
In difficult times,
She will know how to meet it.
Now, it’s up to her.

The Child Reflects Us
A child is angry—it is expressed.
A child is happy—it is expressed.
A child is sad—expressed.
Simplicity: inside-out, there is no shame.
Yes, it is difficult to be simple.

What we have inside, we give to our child—
Yes, love, but also what we inherit:
Our fear, anger and stress.
We expect the child to be tolerant and kind.
The child is confused.

Roots and Responsibility
What one receives as a child—
After 25 years, it becomes wars in the world.
Inner suppression and its reaction.

Fear is needed to protect the seed,
It must be shielded from the wild.
Silently it grows around the fence.
Becoming a strong tree, it naturally breaks free—
Takes own responsibility.

My Papa
As a child, when I was unreasonable and crying,
He quietly sat beside me,
Listening patiently for hours—
It always stayed with me,
His eyes, a deep ocean of love.
When fear troubled me at night,
I ran to him and hugged him tight.
Suddenly, I felt so brave—
Challenging the demons around.
My first taste of fearlessness
Was in Papa’s arms.

The Natural
Gently guide the child, one hobby at a time—
No pressure, no ticking clock.
No goals to chase, no finish line,
Just patience, and you may find
How brilliantly the smallest things can grow.

Essence
As parents, we can gently guide,
But can’t always see what dwells inside.
Each child is an individual soul,
The soul must find its own way to grow.

A Quiet Strength
He never tried to control or shout.
He never let his anger out.
His softness was often taken for granted,
Yet he stayed kind—without a doubt.
He chose not to pass his pain to a child—
To me, that wasn’t a small choice.
Love you, Papa—from the moon and back.

Desire and Greed
The ladoos he got,
The biscuits he bought,
Fulfilling my small desires,
Expressing his love.
What more does a child need?
This is how I first learned—
Desire isn’t always greed.

Who Made Them This Way?
Who made them selfish,
By giving freedom but no responsibility?
Who taught them to chase hollow dreams,
Believing that money can buy everything?

When they were helpless and small,
We left them with strangers—
Cruel teachers, maids at home.

They grew detached,
And now we call them selfish.
We blame, cry, and demand,
While they are on the run.

The Lost Soul
The child is confused,
Watching a world so strange—
Where fakeness is praised,
And simplicity ignored.
labelled stubborn for not fitting in,
He tries to follow,
Just to prove
He belongs.
Afraid to be left alone,
He bends, he hides—
Not knowing yet
He’s a lion cub,
Lost among a flock of sheep.