1. What am I if not for nostalgia?
To my land, my family,
my heart, my home
Through the tip of my black pen,
I am to capture the welcoming warmth
of the Southeastern sun.
It is the light that burns brightly,
the kind that strengthens you.
What my pen breathes onto paper
was first sung by the hands
who summoned soil and sun.
This paper is the preservation of life,
the keeping of memories,
the giving of stories.
I am to preserve the green fields
and all the overgrown raintrees.
Though it is dry and dull now,
all that was green and full of life
are still as is
on this simple paper.
He raised the sky from water,
molded breath from dust
and seeded life from Earth.
Here is how His abundance lives on.
2. How much is this land worth?
The land that hugs our parents’ bones,
the limbs of our brothers and sisters
who held each other before their long sleep.
The land where our tears settled
and water flows yearlong.
Full of soil, full
of nutrients, of life.
She breathes and births Purpose,
along with Debt and Burden.
She nurtures us with strength and pride,
she is history, she is home,
her name is Thailand.
How much is she worth?
3. It matters
Write it down, describe it, illustrate it with words, do it because it matters.
Capture her as the sunset rests on her face tell her you like her smile
look at her as she speaks simple words
memorize how she runs up to greet you
look back– admire how she walks away
do it because it matters.
For a few minutes, pet your four-legged friend stop to look at that purple flower, that tree and how they move with the wind
appreciate it– let it gently
weave into your busy day
do it– it matters.
Tend to your lilies, water that dying orchid collect those hand-written cards,
write the letter– send it
frame those old photographs,
look at them– look at how much has changed
Feel it all, deeply
ache with it– survive it
It matters.
Perhaps not in this hour,
nor in the next, but time is tender.
Time will press meaning into the hollow places you once hurried past Time will keep its word
and you’ll be grateful to know
It all matters.
4. Summer Invisibility
Beneath the invisible sunny rays and orange hues
she sits and prays: to be there and bare
just seen and felt
like the cherry-colored chrysanthemum,
the peeled citrus flesh,
the tanned summer skin.
To be free to roam
in the warmth of her own home
As a bee exploring its violet star,
or a reader immersing into a memoir.
But she’s here not there.
Here, where fall dims her fire
winter melts her worries
and spring renews her hope again
Here, she is striding in the sunny Southwest,
supporting the flowering vines.
She’s here,
beautifully burning yet
incessantly yearning.
As she grows through this prayer
she hopes home waits for her
and memories don’t fail her
Slowly, with summer invisibility,
the subtle Sun presses onto the hems
of the evergreen trees, a gentle message:
“Rooted in you is a secret strength–
the beginning of a second story”
Everywhere, this summer invisibility.
5. Mommy
You have lived in burnt books,
in melted snow,
through songs long sung.
I hear the echoes of your dances,
the accents in your words.
I feel the scars behind your tattoos,
the trails of your tears.
Mommy, I don’t know you.
You, so beautiful like a library
of books, I can only flip through
books I can’t read.
Your youthful laughs, I can only mimic. Humor I can’t understand.
Mommy, you know me
All of me
But Mommy, I don’t know you.
Narada (Tonnam) Akarasirikanchana is a UCI student. Find more of her work here.