Tides of longing

 　　Who laid the bait in the waters, making my longing a fish swimming back and forth? I chew on the distant stories told through my grandmother's palm-leaf fan, and unwittingly, you gently lifted me up.

　　So, I'm stranded on the riverbank of my hometown, feeling that only a rainy season can interpret the brilliance of my life, only an unexpected tide can allow me to struggle in joy.

　　A destiny's ebb and flow is destined, surging in the sky of remembrance; it is your silent verses, stirring my shadow in the darkness, making me unable to judge how long the road home is.

　　A life's prayer is destined, swaying in the verdant spring; it is the call of loved ones, stirring the tremor of my soul, making me unable to recall how many wanderers' dreams the ever-growing wheat fields have fed.

　　Sitting on the ridge of my hometown's fields, I see my sense of smell stirred, my breath stagnates, I can never leave the village, yet in the drowsy soil, a burning note stirs.

　　My seed, in a moment of reflection, has fallen into this land, neither too big nor too small. I listen to the sprouting of inspiration, exceeding all imagination. Just like every dusk, I reminisce about the past submerged by time.

　　I truly wish to let go of your hands, my dear elders and fellow villagers, my dear brothers and sisters. It was you who adorned my home with the first rays of the season's sunlight; it was you who, with a soaring height, lifted the sun to the horizon.

　　I am grateful for the wings of life, grateful for the garden full of spring colors, for it all began in spring. It was you who adorned my eternal roots with sincere smiles and kind hearts; it was you who, with a passionate concern, awakened my waiting with a single word.

　　When all the birdsong soaks my night, I see your hand flowing through familiar songs, flowing through my days of watching over my homeland, watching over every day of my life.

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