Masters puppeteer

Photo credit: AXS.com

Before the umbilical cord is cut
have already planned who they want it to be
This embryo will be a lawyer, doctor or engineer
They know what's best
For that protruding under the navel
Which by an ocean
Is different from wanting the best for it
What sorcery ?
Tell me, do they all have crystal balls;
That whispers the fate of the unborn?
Toddler, adolescent and now an adult
It rejects the beaten path they gave it
It seeks to create its own path
Towards its dreams
And they react like it’s a miscarriage
Its resolution to pursue its dreams and not theirs
Is received by them
Like a bloodied thigh that tells of a lost child
What a pity
The irony
A child who follows their dreams
And not his
Is already a lost child
Such Lost child
No compass, rudder or turbine engines
Flimsily clutches at the straw held by
Its parent
purpose comes from thy heart
And not the lips of thy parent
Their word, thoughts and gestures
Are guidelines and not structures
So many die with their potentials untapped
Unsung
Only the brave break that crystal ball
Most, rather follow the echoes of the dreams of their parents
Than be who their heart wants them to be
How sad when the crystal ball glistens unbroken
Clear night
walk by the cemetery,
hear cry of dreams not lived.
The grave yard they say
Is a rich place indeed