‘Father! Tell me. Am I made of clay? '
‘Yes, my dear, you are.'
‘But water runs off my arms and legs
It does not wash the clay,
Of what kind is the clay I am made of? '
The child persisted.
His father caught in the trap of his own making,
Now and then, he gazed at the sky.
How could he tell the child?
By clay is meant the elements that make up the world,
By clay, the material cause is referred to.
He said -
‘My dear son, the clay you are made of is so fine
That it is invisible to you and me,
It does not fall off while you bathe.'
The child believed these words,
He did not yet know he was a modification of himself.
Topic(s) of this poem: philosophy
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.