He used to think his life was a series of drifting moments.
My mother placed him in a basket of green tea leaves, and carried him on her shoulder pole through the undulating hills.
I ran away from home a few times, sitting by the roadside and crying because I was all alone.
It took me a long time before I dared to go home...
Far from the peaceful valley, far from the thatched roof houses.
He followed his dream beyond the white mist.
Somewhere in the quiet afternoon, I can smell the fragrant smoke.
My heart aches with longing for home...
He followed his humble beliefs, and faced many hardships along the way.
They too were ragged, struggling to make ends meet, their hearts scarred with wounds.
Everywhere I look, I see myself standing alone amidst the vast, changing sky.
The valley is still waiting...
He returned not as the person he was during his dream years.
I long for a peaceful, restful sleep while carrying tea on a cart through the valley.
The sound of dry tea leaves in the old winter
Bewildered by the changing seasons...
His dream is now behind the hill.
on each side of the storm
the slanted rays of the afternoon sun lingered anxiously.
A wisp of smoke rose from the kitchen eaves.
distant...
Source: https://baoquangnam.vn/phia-con-dong-3157084.html
Comment (0)