Sri,
A woman who grew up in the middle of deciduous teak forest
She was destined to live in the silence of singing land
Far from prosperity that is assumed equal to a crowning gold
But her heart is peaceful
At the mountain pass she lives like a goddess without inscription
Her face blossoms not because of lipstick or earrings
But by lush forests and blooming fields
Or even grass that tickling her toes
Submitting the carefree wind
Her love is so deep like wild Saman roots
Spreading under the skin of the steep hills
Her tears are always irrigating the quiet life
In her fracturing prayers
So that the grass will always cheerful
So that the fields will always grow
So that the forest will always shady
Until the land call her again
To pass on the love of nature
True love for her next descendants
February, 2015
©Poetry Prairie
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