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Picking up the handset I was stunned with surprise:

Whose voice as light as falling leaves in cold skies?

Isn’t it ten years, ten odd years, dear mother,

Just in silence to miss and long for one another?

I left without any promises or pledges that day:

The old wild horse from its forest-land went astray.

Ten years for Mom’s hair to turn mourning white,

And mourning-like my soul also in such a plight.

You’ve still been sitting there weaving your pain

By an exsistence of slapping wind and beating rain.

I’ve set off to set up from all directions a pyre

In order to disperse the mist for life lighting a fire.

Your voice was broken off, you choked up, I found;

Mom’s endearing words or mere in-reverie sound?

You are too far, how could I reach out for you?

And when could we meeting again look forward to?

Do not cry, my dear mother, and continue to wait.

All my grief I will hide in the rhymes I create.

Of all my sorrow I will write reams and reams,

And find your warmth my warmth in my dreams.

As I picked up the handset how astounded was I

To hear my mom’s voice sadder than the rainy sky!

Should I be able to give up Man’s time in hereafter,

I would offer mine to recover my mom’s laughter.

Thanh Thanh