Memories of the fields

White smoke gradually replaces brown soil
The bowl of rice no longer has the taste of sunshine
Mother went out to the porch and threw the bitter raindrops
Remember the water drops on the thatched roof

I no longer dream of the dream surrounded by the scent of rice
Childhood feet stumble on the stubble
Pain throughout childhood
Still thorny now.

What does dad do every morning?
When there is no longer the buffalo's eyes waiting in the barn
A bundle of dry straw mixed with a bunch of grass
Rolling around the sad jackfruit tree.

No more corn and potato afternoons
Smoke stings my hair
Reeds and reeds roll around in the fields
Drifting back to the old shore.

The crickets must have dried up by now.
On the furrow that winter
Last month only saw
Sun drops shaped like rice grains fall...

THE ONE STICK OF FRAGRANCE