Reading Khalil Gibran’s poem “On Children” from his timeless work The Prophet has quietly but deeply shifted something in me.

He begins with a powerful truth:

Gibran challenges the age-old belief that parents somehow own their children. Instead, he invites us to see ourselves as vessels—means through which life flows, not the source of it. We are not here to shape our childred to be us, but to hold space while they becomes who they already are.

This thought has slowly grown within me, reshaping how I look not just at parenthood, but at life itself.

It made me realise: if children do not belong to their parents, and parents are simply the medium through which life expresses itself, then perhaps nothing in this universe truly belongs to anyone. Everything—our relationships, roles, responsibilities—exists in relation to something else. We are all part of a much larger web, playing our parts not as owners or originators, but as channels through which life unfolds.

For instance, if I am able to provide for my family, it’s not because I am the ultimate source of that provision. I am just the means. What reaches them was perhaps always meant to reach them—I was simply the one entrusted to pass it along.

This understanding finds resonance in Hindu philosophy, where the idea of being a “निमित्त” (Nimitta)—a mere instrument—is deeply rooted. The Bhagavad Gita urges the individual to perform their duties without attachment to outcomes, reminding us that we are not the doers, but the “निमित्तमात्र” (nimittamatra)—only the means through which the life unfolds. Much like Gibran’s vision, this perspective removes the burden of control and ownership. Whether it is raising a child, supporting a loved one, or fulfilling our daily duties—the role is ours, but the result is not. We are participants in a cosmic choreography, and peace lies in accepting our place within it—with devotion, humility, and grace.

To conclude, I return once again to Khalil Gibran’s timeless wisdom. In his poem On Children, he gently reminds us:

We are not the archer, but the bow.
Let us strive to bend with grace.

Whether viewed through the poetic lens of Gibran or the spiritual clarity of Vedantic philosophy, the message remains the same: we are not the source, but the channel; not the owners, but the instruments. And in recognising this, we find a quiet strength—not in control, but in surrender.