Memories of the fields

For poetry lovers - Posted date: 14:49, February 4, 2022

There are no more storks in my mother's lullaby/ There is only the river with one side eroding and the other silting/ The village is unfinished/ Where are the fertile fields?

The white smoke color gradually replaces the brown soil.
The bowl of rice no longer has the taste of sunlight
Mother went out to the porch and threw the bitter raindrops
Remember the water drops of 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 in the barn waiting
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 falling...

THE ONE STICK OF FRAGRANCE