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And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said: Speak to us of children

And he said:

Oh multitudes of children 
Sensually sensitive 

(1)
O piece of my liver - my dewy hair,
My day - my tomorrow, 
The sweetness of knots.
“Your children are not your children “
They’re sons & daughters of life longing itself “

(2)
We cry out from the pain of their arrival,
Mourn - if they’re lost to the clouds of the world,
Still, leave traces - fragments of broken memories.
“They come through you, but not from you”
“And though they’re with you - yet they belong not to you”

(3)
We play with them like playful birds,
Over hillocks in bright fields,
Yet the light of excitement will shine in their blood.
“You many give them love, but not your thoughts”
“For they have their thoughts”

(4)
In the orchard of our contentment,
We make them have fun - feel here,
Have their bodies wander with enlightening hope.
“You may house their bodies but not their souls”
“For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow”

(5)
The world other than the bitter world
Far from darkness & yard
Where there’s no violence, sorrow & tears
& graves covered in secret.
“Which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams”

(6)
Children play is not our game,
The determination is like iron,
It captivates our soul - but not the spring of old age.
“You may strive to be like them”
“But seek not to make them be like you”

(7)
We want to go back - live in the childhood,
With beauty - pleasure,
Innocent - highness, 
going back will not be considered striving
“For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday”

(8)
We give them the palm of living,
They give us their hearts,
Perhaps, there is a thousand meaning behind it.
“You’re the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth”

(9)
We see them as colorful arrows - They see us as a matchbox (Archer),
Travel pass our forearms -
Leave us juicy inscriptions,
From the will of the divine spirit.
“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”

(10)
Let be to them, An Angel,
Brush their path with jasmine - make them smell like fragrances,
For HE loves arrows that does not know the meaning of sins.
“Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness”
     “For even as He love the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.”
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