Roots

There is no doubt that truth finally wins.
But what about the long road she walked alone?
Even if it’s hard-
Would the child still choose the same?

Pursuing the talent—
Is a natural meditation.
In difficult times,
One knows how to meet the self.
Now, it’s up to the child.

Poem

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

Poem

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—
Taking 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.

Poem
Guiding 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.

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 the child—
To me, that wasn’t a small choice.
Love you, Papa—from the moon and back.

Papa
The ladoos he got,
The biscuits he bought,
Fulfilling 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, people 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 the world so strange—
Where fakeness is praised,
And simplicity is ignored.
Labelled them stubborn for not fitting in.
The child tries to follow,
Just to prove
He belongs.
Afraid to be left alone,
The child bends, hides—
Not knowing yet
He’s a lion cub,
Lost among a flock of sheep.