Every wind of my hamlet
unto me tells a whispering tale.
Every visit to my hamlet
unto me is now a pilgrimage.
Her green meads, waters and fields,
Those shady lanes, that solemn silence,
Her glimmering hurricane lanterns by night,
Gentle reveries woken by the silent moonlight.
My cousins, those poignant vacations,
My ancestral house, those twilight incantations,
The temple, that long whispering stillness,
And the stars twinkling in quietness.
From the din of the world
As I pass unto these scenes,
A solitary chirp is visibly heard,
A movement within is deeply felt.
Now, as I take a dip in this river,
She embraces me like a fondling mother.
And her wavelets in silence ask-
‘Where were you my boy all these years? ’