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How can you bear to hear the shrill wails of dreams
As they are being untimely ripped from their hosts,
Screaming in agonising rage and bloody tears wasted
On Hope that has been swallowed by the wind?
How can you bear to look into the hollow eyes of your children;
Those dark tunnels of despair
As they plough the fertile land
That grows them futile fruits?
Even a parent must feel guilt
Requestioning their justice in parenting,
When every silent night, you can hear their wheezing sobs
Resounding in the woeful hoots of the owls' weeping,
Weeping for the moonbeams to break through the seams of the clouds.
We stare at the dandelion seeds,
Our sighs set them off carrying our hopes:
Let it be a child's naive wish or a youth's stubborn
aim,
Only to see them grow on the grave of dreams.
As they are being untimely ripped from their hosts,
Screaming in agonising rage and bloody tears wasted
On Hope that has been swallowed by the wind?
How can you bear to look into the hollow eyes of your children;
Those dark tunnels of despair
As they plough the fertile land
That grows them futile fruits?
Even a parent must feel guilt
Requestioning their justice in parenting,
When every silent night, you can hear their wheezing sobs
Resounding in the woeful hoots of the owls' weeping,
Weeping for the moonbeams to break through the seams of the clouds.
We stare at the dandelion seeds,
Our sighs set them off carrying our hopes:
Let it be a child's naive wish or a youth's stubborn
aim,
Only to see them grow on the grave of dreams.
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