there is a knock on the door

dad is calling me with his stingy box in hand

the colorless clear air burns my liver

I quaver till I see the the sun rising

glassy eyes; getting harder to focus on the rod

noticing the wake-up hour of the nature

all streching; the trees, the birds, the fishes

till their eyelashes touch my bait

sitting on the cold rock

moves my stomache

no one around, just some mosquitos

who do not have desire for blood

the stillness of the surface does not change

and you get heavier gradually

turning back home with 1-2 fish

more sleep than fish in mind

when you wake up there

not much room to move your privacy

2 rooms, 1 kitchen and the toilet

however, I could get stuck with happiness

no cafe to go, no library to study, nothing

other than people with everlasting smiles

the only hobby I could do easily

just to gather “precious” stones

I used to wash them again and again

after 120 months I am 21 now

with a less colorful dress

I am visiting my once-little village

and the curtains of my home differ

even if the smiles around are the same…