At the farthest corner of the world
There remains my village small and smart.
Birds chirp there, farmers render songs,
Flowers sprinkle flavor all the year round.
The sun rises like a silver disk in the east
And in the evening sets in the west.
At night the moon appears to dispel dark.
My village, neat and nice, has no match at all.
Tasting berries, litchi and mangoes, and sporting
In its fields, I spent my delicious childhood there.
Leaving behind that sweet, splendid, unforgettable village,
I wander restlessly now from one country to another.
How long I have not stepped in my village!
But my heart lies there every moment.
