家

我独自走在田间的路上，夕阳像一个守财奴一样正在藏起它最后的一点金黄。

白昼在黑暗中愈陷愈深，已过丰收的孤寂大地安静地躺着。

突然，一个男孩儿尖锐的声音响彻天空，

不知他从哪里穿过黑暗，只留下他的歌声在这静谧的夜晚。

他的家在这荒地的尽头，在甘蔗地后，

藏在香蕉树、瘦槟榔树、椰子树以及深绿的菠萝蜜树的树影之下。

我在这星光下无人的小路上停下脚步，

看见昏黑的大地延展在眼前，用她的手臂环抱着无数的家，

家里有着摇篮与床铺，母爱与夜灯，

还有小小的生命，他们满心欢喜，却浑然不知这份欢喜对于这个世界的意义。

The Home

I paced alone on the road across the field while the sunset was hiding its last gold like a miser.

The daylight sank deeper and deeper into the darkness, and the widowed land, whose harvest had been reaped, lay silent.

Suddenly a boy’s shrill voice rose into the sky.

He traversed the dark unseen, leaving the track of his song across the hush of the evening.

His village home lay there at the end of the waste land, beyond the sugar-cane field,

hidden among the shadows of the banana and the slender areca palm, the cocoa-nut and the dark green jack-fruit trees.

I stopped for a moment in my lonely way under the starlight,

and saw spread before me the darkened earth surrounding with her arms countless homes furnished with cradles and beds, mothers’ hearts and evening lamps, and young lives glad with a gladness that knows nothing of its value for the world.