The sky over my hometown reminds me of my mother.

Phan Van Vinh

The sun begins to shift, ushering in summer.

The season of sweet sim fruit brings back childhood memories.

I wander aimlessly through the sky of memories.

The village reflects the image of my frail mother.

 

The child walked along the windswept hills.

Across the clump of bare, withered trees

These are the myrtle bushes that were nurtured when they were young.

I followed my mother early in the morning to gather firewood to make a living.

 

On a cold night, my mother warmed her hands by the fire.

Heartbreak permeates through the long years.

Alone, with disheveled hair, in the deep night.

The kitchen shed languidly awaits the presence of a human being.

 

The leaves wrapped around the salt were buried by my mother in the hot coals.

Rice is used to nurture literacy and send children to school.

Guide your child through the doorway.

Out into the vast, boundless sky

 

Insignificant before the tranquil countryside sky

A faint scent of betel nut wafts across the porch.

Hearing the sound of people returning in the sunlight.

When will Mom's dark circles under her eyes go away?

Source: https://baodaklak.vn/van-hoa-du-lich-van-hoc-nghe-thuat/van-hoc-nghe-thuat/202506/troi-que-nho-me-46c0419/