The peasants emerge from the salted fields
flow from the dry sandy hills
descend from the naked stone mountains
The peasants fly from the well-lit streets.

Returning
They all walk back to the plei.

Unburdened of their loads
The ginang and the baranung call for their return
Rain after rain fertile in the festival of Kate.

In this night the forests irradiate in the Tenth month
In this night their eyes are brightened with pride
After so many years of diaspora they still share the same rhythms.

The baranung beats upon the shores of the past
The peasants abandon themselves into a fated common denominator
In the ups and downs of centuries of ginang
And tomorrow they walk in tune to the far away regions.

*
Translated by Nguyen Tien Van