From the Balcony

...Little children, playing beneath my balcony... on their cheeks lie remnants of their blood, and in their eyes remnants of their pure souls...

...Little children, born yesterday, when the specter of hateful colonialism crouched upon our breasts. Their innocent childhood opened its eyes with the images of fear standing before them, and the talk of it filling their ears...

...Little children, who deserve to fill the memories of their childhood with innocent gaiety and sweet song... Yet I see them every day, passing beneath my balcony, a cloud of silent melancholy over their faces... for in their breasts is a flood of pent-up misery, which they inherited against their will, in cruel circumstances that leagued together against them and against their kin...

And I hear myself calling out to these children, in whose eyes there is nothing but the look of gravity and thought:

"Cheer for your sweet childhood, little children, and fill the world with brightness and glad faces, and wipe away the fog and gloom that has gathered thick along the sides of your pure souls — for life is nothing but a smile or a tear. And it is we alone who decide our fate, and which of the two roads we take.

So let your road be a lighted gladness, brightened by your unfailing smiles.

Our souls have wearied of frowning.

So exchange it for a smile!

Long may you live!!..."