August 22, 2010
Last night, my town had a big rain storm. Thunder rolled and jumbled, lightings threatened to split the sky into pieces, then the torrential rain followed. I welcome the rain. It breaks the unbearable heat, which has been tormenting most PCVs since the beginning of June. My rashes hopefully will finally heal as the heat and humidity decrease.
I fancy the rain. It always brings back sweet memory of my childhood; my grandmother, my sister, the small island we lived, sound of the bamboo leaves and smell of the jasmine flowers. Here is the poem I wrote long long time ago:
I often dreamed about my childhood time when,
the summer rain came late at night unexpected
Together with the lightning, thunder and wind,
Mixing with the sizzling sound of the bamboo leaves,
Awaking me, comforting me, and revealing me the secret of the “night”…
The storm brought in drops of rain,
Hitting the ceiling, splashing my window
Torturing the delicate white jasmine, and eventually
Snuck into my bed….
Curling up my body under a thin cover,
Unwilling to wake up from an already forgotten dream
Suddenly, a warm layer of blanket
Covering my shoulder,
Warming up my body and soul….
Fumbling in the dark, her aging figure
Fading away from my dream….
Outside my window
The bamboo leaves still complaining about
The insensitive wind, howling and howling….
My grandmother is in heaven now and my sister is thousand and thousand miles away. There is neither bamboo nor jasmine flower around, only I sitting alone and reading the poem of the past. I ponder; will I ever be loved so deeply, so unconditionally again?
Last night, my town had a big rain storm. Thunder rolled and jumbled, lightings threatened to split the sky into pieces, then the torrential rain followed. I welcome the rain. It breaks the unbearable heat, which has been tormenting most PCVs since the beginning of June. My rashes hopefully will finally heal as the heat and humidity decrease.
I fancy the rain. It always brings back sweet memory of my childhood; my grandmother, my sister, the small island we lived, sound of the bamboo leaves and smell of the jasmine flowers. Here is the poem I wrote long long time ago:
I often dreamed about my childhood time when,
the summer rain came late at night unexpected
Together with the lightning, thunder and wind,
Mixing with the sizzling sound of the bamboo leaves,
Awaking me, comforting me, and revealing me the secret of the “night”…
The storm brought in drops of rain,
Hitting the ceiling, splashing my window
Torturing the delicate white jasmine, and eventually
Snuck into my bed….
Curling up my body under a thin cover,
Unwilling to wake up from an already forgotten dream
Suddenly, a warm layer of blanket
Covering my shoulder,
Warming up my body and soul….
Fumbling in the dark, her aging figure
Fading away from my dream….
Outside my window
The bamboo leaves still complaining about
The insensitive wind, howling and howling….
My grandmother is in heaven now and my sister is thousand and thousand miles away. There is neither bamboo nor jasmine flower around, only I sitting alone and reading the poem of the past. I ponder; will I ever be loved so deeply, so unconditionally again?
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