POEM TITLE
Clash, not my soul
POEM
Clash, not my soul wait, until
the first beam of light sing from the horizon of the bay
After my long journey
I quenched only by her—
the soft lullaby, rustling pine tree, whirling seagulls
writing on the sea, sewing their songs.
Beside the blackness bay, she built up— a home,
for this place, bear sorrow, joys
the traveler like me, with flaming hearts, black coals.
Upon the shadows from east to west
Reflecting the sweet dreams of the moon and stars
in summer time, unshed, hung-clouds,
ripple from heaven, tears,
They all rise, dance and dance.
My old mother, her whole life, with the hub, in this village, people I knew in my childhood.
Together, they carved their eyelids and lips, on the walls and bridges,red bricks, parallel window frames,
on this dining table—
Love, they still
waiting for me
to come home.