It has been a year.
I ask my mother
how father is doing over there.
Mother says my younger brother’s wife
has asked a wise woman,
who says father rides a yellow horse
to the market,
gets along with the neighbours,
he is content.
I ask her why
father went back to former times?
Didn’t we burn a paper car for him?
Mother says with a bitter smile,
“Maybe he can’t drive!”
Tr. MW, Febr. 2016