Letter to the Dream-Children

Dear Children,

I had to delete the word 'dead' in addressing you, because I remembered this lyrical, almost magical essay by Charles Lamb called Dream Children, A Reverie and the unbearable poignancy of the following sentence somewhere towards the end, "We are nothing; less than nothing, and dreams. We are only what might have been, and must wait upon the tedious shores of Lethe millions of ages before we have existence, and a name". It feels uncanny, appropriating this sentence here. Here is the place which has turned into a far from lyrical, almost maniac moment of methodical justification. This also feels weird, the urge to write a letter that I feel I must address to you, rather than to those who died killing you. I think they have been long dead anyway. They do not understand.

Those who killed you, are the basest of fools this world has ever known. We, as you may have already known, call them 'terrorists'. People who inflate and propagate terror. How on earth should one be able to do this unless one has lost all touch with one's sense of humanity? Unless one is really blinded and misguided by greater 'leader' fools. You must have heard of Shahrukh Khan? Yes, you may have even just danced to his songs in biryani-smelling winter weddings. I read somewhere that on knowing about the attack on your school he stated "The soul is healed by being with children". How beautifully true. If only those fools spent eight minutes interacting with you instead. If only.

I am sure you will return, and return very soon to a real world which will still be infested with terrorists and fools. On your way, do get some extra wisdom so as to be able to enlighten them, for we, as you just experienced, have failed you. In several articles I read and photographs I saw, there was one thing which struck me. Many of your badges stood out against the bulleted walls and bloody floors. It said, "I will rise and shine". Yes, you will. Return. Return to complete the lesson you were learning, to complete the whisper you were conveying, to play the games unfinished, to sort the fights unnecessary.

Return to redeem us,

K.