They rise before the morning sun,
Another race has just begun.
A backpack bursting at the seams,
No time for laughter, play, or dreams.
Their days are stacked with endless tasks,
Behind a mask, the child asks:
“Must I perform, excel, compete?
When will I find my own heartbeat?”
The ticking clock, a cruel refrain,
A silent source of growing pain.
Lessons learned but joy denied,
In shadows, innocence has died.
They juggle roles—student, athlete, guide,
Their childhood stolen, cast aside.
The weight of worlds upon their back,
On narrow paths, they tread the track.
A paper moon, a fleeting star,
A playground beckons from afar.
But duty’s chains, they hold them fast,
While golden years rush quickly past.
Their tiny hands hold adult keys,
Unlocking doors to harsh degrees.
Where is the space for wild, free air?
For castles made and dreams to dare?
Oh, hurried child, slow your stride,
Let nature’s rhythm be your guide.
Beneath the sky, the grass, the trees,
Find freedom in the summer breeze.
For life will come, with all its weight,
The world will wait; it’s not too late.
So let them dance, explore, create—
Before the clock decides their fate.
