Where there are strong trees, mountains do not erode.
Where there are strong children, families do not break.
The roots of trees are like sturdy hands, firmly clutching the soil.
The soil is like the spirit of our elders, giving us our stabilities.
Respect this soil, nourish and turn it constantly.
For if it gets coarse and dry, so will your sense of purpose.
The ashes of our ancestors merged long ago with this soil.
Their memories live in the clouds that sail above,
And their blessings flow through the streams.
Build your own successes, to become the strengths of your elders.
Build your own freedoms, to become their vehicles of happiness.
Ask them not to forego their lands, ask them not to let go.
For to grow and multiply, who says we must divide.
They once used to climb tall trees, but now they can barely walk.
Maybe their children, took all their energies,
Which they never remembered to return.
Their bodies now tire quickly, and their muscles and bones grow weak.
Their minds hold great memories of pain, and burdens of choices made.
Our elders have learnt to live within their means,
So what if, their means are lesser.
Light the incense of love for them, and water their thirsting plants.
Fill their ears with songs of hope, and show them beautiful skies.