I wish to keep alive the strength of my thoughts, the bloom of my will.
To stumble, to rise; to make mistakes and learn...
But around me, the elders stand like immovable hills... Guides, yes!
Yet often unwilling to admit when they too have lost their way.
They drive us mad with commands,
Yet they carry neither the weight of their faults,
nor the burden of their outdated truths.
Oh, how loudly they preach mindfulness,
While dismissing the very discipline in their own actions.
Still, I’m expected to bow,
To cover their flaws with my silence,
While my small slips are judged as rebellion.
Despite the applause when I speak from my heart,
Where is the shift?
Where is the change they claim to value?
Oh, wise heads with silvered hair,
When will you see that youth is not a threat...
But a force? Not a fault line in your legacy,
But a bridge toward a better future?
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