Rajeev Verma
Do not give them everything you missed,
the toys, the comforts, the easy shine—
for objects age quietly in corners,
and even gold forgets how to be mine.
Give them instead the unseen lessons,
the words no one ever spoke to you,
the guidance learned through falling,
the strength it took to start anew.
Teach them how to stand alone
when applause is nowhere near,
how to choose the harder honesty
over the safety of fear.
Show them how to lose with grace,
and win without growing small,
how to listen more than they speak,
how to rise each time they fall.
Let them know the value of patience,
that time is a faithful friend,
that beginnings matter deeply,
but character decides the end.
Teach them that hands are made for helping,
not just for holding things,
that respect weighs more than money,
and kindness outlives kings.
Give them questions, not just answers,
curiosity sharp and alive,
the courage to doubt the easy road
and still choose how to live their life.
Let them see you learning daily,
admitting what you don’t yet know,
for wisdom grows in humble soil
where honesty is allowed to grow.
Material things will fade and fail,
break, rust, or lose their shine,
but knowledge settles into bones
and walks with them through time.
So pass on what cannot be stolen,
what fire and flood can’t erase—
values, skills, and self-belief,
the quiet strength to face their days.
Because when your hands are empty
and the world asks who they are,
they won’t reach for what you bought them—
they’ll become what you taught them to be.
RAJEEV VERMA 