A meal in a foreign land

In the small street, farmers dry straw, the strong smell of earth, the crackling of perch and grasshoppers, the thin smoke cuts deep into the memory of the warm mud on people's feet.

dew drops on rice bowl
This afternoon the wind blew the furrows upside down.
the earth shines the stars
green field

I wander around in my memory
banana bushes on the banks of grass
dusty road obscures mother's figure
stork wings hanging in the void

middle age sleep with the fields
heart like childhood cottage
windy
name of the land name of the village gone in the season...

Source: https://baoquangnam.vn/mot-bua-que-nguoi-3157124.html