the old man
makes a choice
leaves the city
and retreated to
the mountain
which once
gave him birth
he plants trees
raise pigs and chickens
and buys a horse
and builds
a small house
beside the
foot of the hill
every morning
he gazes
at birds migrating
leaving songs
the view of fog
and mountain peaks
make him feel so light
meals are simple
fish from the
spring, bamboo shoots
green leaves
steamed rice
from the pot
now he discovers
a new reason
for living
away from the
choking demands of
the city
from all those
forgeries of living
now
into the honesty
of the wilderness
untouched by the
fraud of
what life had been
this my Papa
did.....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem