My Old Mother and Ancient Village

Smoke ascended, swirling gracefully, From the chimneys of mud houses’ kitchens, As I bid farewell to my beloved village. Lips of my mother, weathered and wise, Moved in silent prayers, murmuring pleas, And her frail, aged hands reached towards the heavens, Beseeching God for my journey’s success. The setting sun, a solemn witness, Hung low in the sky, like an ancient pendulum, Mocking the aging joints of my old wooden house. I turned my gaze away, my heart heavy, For I knew I was leaving behind my soul, In the familiar fragrance of my cherished land. I carried with me all that I could, The memories of mountains, the shadows of trees, And songs of migrating cranes’ melodies. Years of possessions I had saved, But within my soul, a mournful sorrow cried, For all I bore couldn’t restore or regain, The cherished presence of my mother’s loving frame, Nor the essence of my ancestral village’s flame. Farewell, I whispered, with a heavy sigh, Aching for the passions my heart once knew, In the loving arms of my homeland. But now I venture forth, seeking new horizons, Carrying memories as treasures in my heart, Yet forever longing for the irreplaceable, That which time cannot restore or replace. Smoke ascended, a poignant farewell, And I embarked on a path unknown, With the beauties of my past trailing behind, As I walked away from what was, And towards what will be, Forever marked by the absence, Of my old mother and my ancient village. …