Country

The country was born from the footsteps of a gentle mother
Go sow green shoots into the soil
Everywhere - hearts are shaped like the country.

The country is a never-ending march.
From father to son forever
The arduous march towards the sun
Winding and bumpy to the ferry of happiness
The struggle between the two sacred ends of gain and loss
Carrying the fetus of the country within
And the red flag with yellow star as birth certificate
For the shape of the country

Country
As high as the sun
As familiar as a human face
Is simple and close to kitchen smoke
Is fragrant with sticky rice
Collected and distilled from many homes
Who has gone far away
There was a night when I was nostalgic for my hometown.
Is it from rice plants, banyan trees, Malabar spinach, and guava trees?
Our roots, our family roots
The country is growing green
And building golden seasons.