Your children are not your children
They are the offspring of life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you
And though they are with you, 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 rest 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 backwards;
Nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows, from which, your children,
As living arrows, are sent forwards.
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 archers hand be for gladness,
For as he loves the arrow that flies,
So he loves also the bow that is stable…