Dear friend..
I’ve been to this page for a long time now, and have witnessed many emotions of joy, anger, love, and hate. Sometimes there are arguments and debates that discourage the writer…well, that’s life..hihi
For me, when I opened the first pages of this poem… it was just a small contribution for everyone to listen, read, be less sad, and have more joy in life.. so all compliments, encouragement from the audience or sincere suggestions, I am happy and listen with the most precious attitude..
However, throughout the pages I write, I always tell the truth… writing is really difficult, it’s just that emotions lead me, sometimes I sit for a long time without any words in my head. Therefore, when emotions come back, I only have about 1 to 2 hours to type… after typing, I don’t have time to reread and post it… and hope that readers will comment on the ideas and words. Because of that, to be honest, sometimes when I reread it, I also find it funny…
So whoever loves, let it go. Whoever is sad or angry, you have to endure it..hihi
I told you, I don’t write to sell. The writer is simply a chef who creates dishes or simply cuisine. Audiences have a myriad of different tastes. Sometimes the dishes cooked and presented by people in the countryside are not as elegant as those of people working in tourism.
What I’m telling you guys is just a natural development, it’s been a few months since the mute girl was rescued from the cornfield by the river to become the person living in my house… and her life is still very long… the writer himself doesn’t have any script for this page, guys… I hope you guys understand…
Thanks guys
Ancient banyan tree in the middle of the field
I don’t know when or who planted it, but that tree is still standing there. Back then, when I was just learning to ride a bike, my mother’s Thong Nhat bicycle was already worn out, sometimes the front tire was worn out, the talons were worn out, cracked in several places, the wheel had bulges in some places like a snake swallowing mice in its stomach.
Yet it was the vehicle that replaced my mother’s legs to go to school every day. It also made me fall down the rice field several times, so on Sundays or in the afternoons when my mother came home from teaching, I would take that bike and pedal along the village road, looking at the rice fields with so many dreams and hopes in my heart.
When my legs get tired from cycling, I often take the cool shade of a banyan tree in the middle of the field as a place to sit and rest my legs.
The ancient banyan tree has been standing here for who knows how long. In the past, in this place, the village legend said that under the tree there was a brick altar where the village elders burned incense. It is said that this was to worship the owl god, burn incense and pray for the village to always be peaceful, prosperous, and have favorable weather.
During the time of bombs and bullets…on the high canopy there was a watchtower, an airplane alarm , the days when I learned to ride a bike, a gathering place for farmers and plowmen to rest, the women and women who planted rice in the village, where the postman stopped to send letters to people in the village.
The days I used to practice cycling, I used to rest there. The lady often cycled past the old banyan tree, where many men waited to buy wine.
Her car arrived. Still carrying a basket of vegetables and food on top. He was shaking, he was shaking, the men were bustling around the wine seller… Only later did I understand, the beauty, the fertility of the woman, the wine seller kept overflowing, dripping onto the lustful eyes of the men who were watching, flirting, flirting, lingering, prolonging the time, their eyes seemed to be looking into her skin, waiting for her to take off her conical hat, fanning,… a few strands of hair swaying in the wind… letting drops of saliva of desire fall.
A few beads of sweat melted away on the cheekbones, the tall, three-fold neck, straight back, slim waist, round, plump buttocks… caught the man’s eyes… almost filled with hope
Indifferent teasing, a few insinuating words, surrounded her… as if wanting to ask Miss Rose… what does the inside look like?
No one wants to offend in wholesale, the lady suddenly replied indifferently…why do you guys keep asking, my wine is so strong that if I get drunk, you won’t support me by buying it…
Tell me, I’ll buy 1 liter to support you.
well..how the face is, so is the dream..
I sat there listening… dumbfounded, not understanding… what the pink girl meant… only to see the men burst out laughing.
of dreams..
Do you remember, the bustling teasing voices…cheeks so rosy…the dream was also rosy…so sweet..
That saying has been with me since the day I learned to ride a bike. The day I got to know Mr. Dam and got closer, I asked him
Grandpa, a few years ago I saw some guys flirting with a girl. She said she had a dream. What is it?
Mr. Dam shook his legs and laughed heartily. After a while, he said, his grandson has reached the age of curiosity.
He said, women and men all have an exposed face… the one at the intersection, covered by two or three layers of pants… no one lets them see, how can they know… so when they like someone… everyone has a desire, what’s inside is sometimes just like a dream, can’t they see it, touch it, caress it, or squeeze it… the pink girl played smart, saying an insinuating sentence that made the men more curious.
it’s like the saying..do as the chin says..
He said that people say that his life is really true. He is frugal. It follows the shape of a woman’s chin and face. High neck, three folds, narrow waist, wide hips, slim figure, long legs without fatigue, the opposite of a lustful woman, high demand for that part, all day long asking for that husband without getting tired.
carrying his words from a few years ago… Miss Hong understood… now the night was quiet, on the bed she was silently smiling, smiling at that moment was so strange, she had just confided her sadness, now letting herself fall quietly close by, just a little warmth, she pulled my leg up to touch the fork… thick.. like a turtle lying on its stomach..
Her face was mute and delicate, her eyes were sharp as knives, touching the desire of men..just because of the circumstances, her life was full of hardships, now my home was a peaceful place, she seemed to radiate, the innate instinct given to women by heaven..curious gaze, when I passed by that place, a pretty field arched, looming under the folds of her pink skirt, fragile as if wanting to arch up to welcome the hand of a 16 year old boy..
gasping for breath
of the dream of the mute there. It lay still waiting for a long time. For more than two months, aunt Tham came over, teasing, blocking the monitor lizard’s nose, the fear that mother would repeat the old New Year greetings.
family barrier. Feeling like a child, I still vaguely wish…the mute girl was mine, the bag of delicious candy that I don’t want to share with anyone, like the fruit grown in the home garden
There, the soft, plump, face-down intersection, covered only by a soft, cool, smooth cloth, invites and stirs the soul..
I miss it so much these past few days, wishing I could see it. Yesterday in the vegetable field, I saw Mr. Tuan caressing and fondling it. Now I’ve quietly overcome my fear.
she’s asleep…my mother slept peacefully early in the evening. Suddenly the mute girl pulled my left hand to use as a pillow, wafting through the mosquito net, the scent of the priest’s wife’s perfume on the mute girl’s hair gently fluttered, rustling through my nose…oh the mute girl was like a divine creature…suddenly her shoulder leaned slightly closer to my face, holding my shoulder, something so light and soft, floating breath…whispering voice I asked her…
do you miss me so much
she nodded..
She picked up the notebook again and pointed to the line she had written the other day.
she is coming here to sleep with her sister
I smiled.. she gently held my hand and placed it on her full pregnant breasts, her nipples raised up, like two mountain peaks through her pink shirt, cool and inviting..
touching that place, feeling like ants crawling, her breasts full of milk, quickly she pulled my shoulder, her cheek tilted to touch one breast
soft, cool, smooth.. the baby milk factory is sparkling, the hand gently kneads the other breast.. a soft moan is heard, uh… uh her mouth smiles, her eyes are like a flower blooming, pistil… her left hand pulls my knee up a little more, it presses on the turtle’s head… it’s been a long time since the night of delivering a baby in the middle of the field, it’s cold, covered in blankets, hugging each other, touching and caressing in the middle of the cold winter wind, now it’s lying face up waiting for my hand to caress and take care of it.. the big, chubby buffalo hoof… oh, the countryside is so poetic and sweet
sister…i’m so uncomfortable..
she smiled dumbly..
She picked up the book again and pointed at the black words… I strained my eyes to look, trying to decipher the sentence in the book…
Tú..later Tú will be the godmother for the baby in my belly
cold, like an electric current running down my spine, I don’t know why I’m only 16 years old..I, a child, am the godfather..why..
I was silent
she was silent..
At that moment, only later did I understand, girls, women, innate, natural womanhood..they are good mothers, they always think about their children..they worry, in the moment of danger to themselves..they still hope that when a creature is born, there will be someone to trust in.
I whispered in her mute ear very softly..
Dear sister,…be quiet…I was about to say the word “I love you”…but the sentence that came out…is, “Don’t worry, my family will take care of you like a relative…” Don’t worry..
The mute girl smiled slyly..like stars flying into her eyes, she handed over the notebook..
I read
I love you forever
moment..silence..
near my left hand, she silently reached into my shirt and gently stroked my shoulder. Feeling sad, her eyes looked like a cool, gentle, clear stream. She raised her face and placed a kiss on my lips, gently swaying around my lips, her fingers caressed the faint, fine hairs like young rice around my upper lip.. she caressed, I looked at her silently.
The feeling is so familiar and close, the breath is heavy, the neck is slightly bent to look at the soft, rosy lips, the white teeth are visible inside. The scent of perfume wafts, faintly bringing to my nose the night space, outside the beginning of the year, drizzle is still falling.
at night my land is quiet..
like a pair of fledgling birds escaping from a cage. She waited for a long time, her breathing quickened, her chest heaving as I gently kneaded her two pink nipples. She gently held my hand outside and pushed it up to the top where the nipples were hard and tight, her moans rising.
uh uh
lightly, my hand inside the fragile nightgown slowly caressed down, up, her big breasts.. suddenly she lifted her chest up and breathed out
oh..
Her legs tensed, like a woman in labor, her breath coming out slowly. She held my hand and slid it down to her bulging belly, where a few months ago her navel still had a deep hole.
Now the skin of her belly is a bit tight, shining with a bright pink-white color, her belly still lies on top of the baby mound hidden inside..down there, her shorts are carelessly pulled down by her legs..my fingers are rubbing around the soft belly button..I gently rub lower and lower, near the fold that divides the belly from the pubic mound.
I gently asked her…is the baby kicking here painful?
she nodded slightly ..
I smiled..suddenly the words “baby, sleep well and don’t kick me anymore” came out.
Her eyes were bright, her smile was shining, her gentle face was filled with love. I looked down there, her thin panties were loosely spread, her legs were slightly spread, her white, pink, smooth calves seemed to entice men. I didn’t know what to say, I just used my hand to rub them a few times, my fingertips touched the hair sticking out of the soft edge of her panties.
feeling stiff and tense. Somewhere the blood in the body was flowing strongly. gently holding her hand and placing it on the chicken’s neck.. unexpectedly the mute girl strongly slid her hand in, tightly holding the head.. stiff, nodding its neck as if to say hello.. brave and brave, the little boy down there was 16, following the boy for so many years. Now the mute girl tightly held her hand and ran it up along the body, gently rubbing the head as if to say, “Slowly, sister, let me feed you…your pussy…your pussy is swollen…”
The moment the fear boundary has passed, Aunt Tham told me to find my own path to love and happiness.. Mr. Dam appeared in my head as if to say.. Opportunity only comes once, crow, nod, young rooster.. don’t be afraid, Tu.
The scene last night of her husband and wife molesting her in the kitchen, Mrs. Binh teasing her and letting her touch her butt…the desire that came to her last night, she never expected that a night filled with so many disturbing images
well then..
She was a mute flower that bloomed with a cruel man under the pine tree. Now it still radiates the fragile, magical scent of first love, full of poetry and divine energy.
above the protruding breasts… vaguely in the clouds as if Mr. Dam was standing next to the hook, telling her to push up her shirt
gliding over her shoulder, the fragile strap slipped off her pink, milky breasts.. popping out, swinging her nipples inviting my hand. She silently closed her eyes, waiting for something. I gently stretched my neck, biting my lips on the still pink nipple.. my hand gently caressed the other peak. Her chest arched up.. her eyes opened slightly, sparkling as she watched my lips sucking around her breasts..
her legs tensed, she twisted her body very lightly..her body like a snake curled up slightly, her hands always deeply, gently untied the small piece of cloth, a few bunches of young grass fluttered, fragilely appeared on the soft top of her pubic mound, smooth skin opened to my eyes.. wistful
oh here it is..man’s dream thing is here..
It was there, a small piece of land rising along the mute girl’s open legs under the dim light of the oil lamp, slightly open, wet and soaking the small piece of cloth that had been lifted up and clung loosely to the mute girl’s wet ankles, making my heart beat faster… I remembered the day I had my soul lost in her sister’s embrace twice… I crawled up and sat between her legs… I looked down at the flower bud with two mounds of flesh still gently closing its lips… I bent down and touched my lips to her navel… The sound of a baby’s footsteps echoed in the smooth skin of her abdomen as if moving inside… Ah no, the mute girl shivered, her belly had goosebumps… I bent down and lightly touched the crease that separated it… That place ran along the piece of land where men wanted to mark their sovereignty… I dreamily watched… Suddenly the mute girl pushed my head… as if wanting to press it deeper… it purposefully pressed its face tightly into the soft groove on both sides of the wet grass… like someone who had drunk in a hurry bowl of potato soup, greasy…coughing because of choking on…water