We sit around the simmering rice boiler
Mother's worn out face knows no smile
My little brother falls asleep
mark of dried-up tears down his eyes
On the small, portable hearth
noisily simmers a handful of rice.
With hungry stare ofa tiger
we gaze with unwinking eyes
The fragrance of boiling rice
keeps us wide awake
Waiting and sitting around the rice boiler
thus passes off my childhood
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.