Look at how our parents throw rocks at each other;
Each stone they cast is filled with its own history,
And they tie each noose from the ropes of misery:
Till the overwhelming blue blood starts to smother.
Older generations strike swords at another,
Till the purpose to swing becomes a mystery -
Villains are heroes with the same soliloquy,
Love does not shine here - only black clouds will hover.

We have different bodies but have the same head,
And we will take the rocks they throw and play a game,
Untie each noose and skip rope proudly without shame,
We will steal each sword and will rather cut our bread.
We will walk on our path without their directions:
For we are our own unreachable reflections.