is the terminal end
my heart to stop nostalgia that would extend?
Mom under the thatch roof who lulled me;
her breasts that fed my body in glee;
the girl on the riverside who tried silk yield;
From the yellow moon over the fragrant rice-field;
From the highland hamlet fest with flickering fire,
Gongs and drums' echoes from forests that aspire;
From the somatic source to the sacred soul
With thousands of streams thro my nostalgic hole.
will ever cease my longing for
My dear motherland deep in all my exile's life core.
There is nowhere the terminal end
For my heart to stop nostalgia that would extend!