this place has become
too familiar
you keep telling yourself
with so much
contempt and so each night before you sleep
you swear to the stars
that soon you are going away
to become someone else
unlike the rest
of those who live here
without pride
one day you pack your
necessities
you put into action what you have been thinking
for quite long
you keep on walking
but you do not really know where you are going
and you remember a friend's father
who rushed early dawn to go to the place of his dreams
that which the night has always told him
and when he reaches there
he rushed again to go back to this place of origin
and he tells his children
'you can't help it
your feet always want to come back
to the place where
you put your contempt'
and for what reason? they'd ask
the father gives a shrug on his shoulder
goes outside the house
and takes his carabao
to plow an old field again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem