Children are the plagues of our vanity
Their sole purpose is to be our genes life insurance
And our reproductive handcuffs to mortality
Its easy to hate them, there everything we are
Spoiled, stupid selfish creatures, living to play
Without burdens of conscience or chain of responsibility
No neurosis from duty, just a clue of melancholia
It's all skipping ropes and paddy cakes
And the brutal slaughter in the playground jungle
Oh, there brutal in their gangs, like hyenas in cliques
Always looking for the week to chew the easy meat
Those school yard days were Darwin's law in action
Their Immune to their illusions of youth
Safe in their bulletproof contraception
of their own immutable immortality.
Time and space bend differently for them
One year, two years or three translate into
An infinitesimal eternity of boredom
They don't know the weight of life
Piling panic and terror with greater concrete
Until your drowning in a padded mask
But they will grow up, and they will suffer
And their dreams and ambitions slowly turn to ash
And they'll fit into our skins as their innocence dies
And then we will smile as their childhood burns
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I feel the same way that children grow up too fast! Excellent poem! Bravo!