The Children of the World Are Born Naked

Historians are mere men. They sail in the high seas of people To catch a glimpse at the elusive whale of peace. Yes, History is not just, It is the poor outline of the book of Life. Everyday historians climb their intellectual mountains And observe their nation like the news chopper over the Brooklyn Bridge, Down are the flipping pages Like fresh fish caught from the pond. The children of the World are born naked, They will be dressed with the garments of their Culture, They will be indoctrinated by the idiosyncrasy of their Society Schooled and fed the yellow marrow of their History, Except for the marginal and exploited children, They will be consumed like shrimps in Chinatown. All the children without exception will be made to choose Between their consciousness and their Patriotism, Between Humanity and their religion. Early, the superimposed mind will be placed Piece by piece in their initiation ritual, Crowned with a montage of thoughts, Others' thoughts.