The Village’s Geographic Portrait

Just yesterday, the village was whole,
The settlement was intact,
Children played in courtyards as vast as the sky,
Livestock were tied in the sheds,
In the hurry to reach school,
Little children waited eagerly for the school bus,
Mothers were busy in the kitchen.

Suddenly—
A mountain of earth came crashing down from above,
It overturned homes, swept away vehicles and people,
In an instant, the village was buried in soil.
What happened to that soil?

It seems still scattered here and there—
Drawers, beds, and cooking utensils,
Bags, books, and lunchboxes.

Now,
Bridges have collapsed—
The very structures that connected relationships.

Now,
Roads have vanished—
The routes that once linked lost travelers.

Right now,
Deep inside the mountain’s belly,
Workers are trapped in dark tunnels,
Corpses lie breathless beneath rubble,
The memory of the people has disappeared.

I am pondering—
Can homes be rebuilt again?
Will bridges rise once more?
Can roads open up again?
Will schools become vibrant once again?

I wonder—
When will the children who flowed from their mother’s embrace return?
Which brick will awaken the dreams fallen from a father’s shoulder?
Which morning will call out the names buried beneath the earth again?

I want to ask time—
Will the laughing country grow greater,
Or the empty village that weeps?