Mama is in her chair seated,
She looks at me,
Then she looks at papa's photo.
She passes her sight to the banana leaves outside the window,
Then looks at the blue sky.
I don't understand my mama,
Nor do I understand my papa.
He is dead for two years already.
I still could not understand,
I think he is dead already,
Buried inside that messy shrubbery of our old home.
I think my papa is dead,
I thnik my papa is buried in the graves of our old home .....
(translated from poem 爸爸和媽媽 by 楊鍵. His poetry book 慚愧 pg 117)