The rubber trees in father's plantation are ready to be tapped

The steadfast trees are deeply rooted

Their leaves and trunks dappled by the late-morning sun

The hills thick with dreams and hope

 

Blood of the father and sweat of the sun grew this together

The father's body may be far away but his heart is not

The whole plantation waits for his safe return

So that he can reap the rewards of old age

 

The son's dream lives in the father's dream

The Brave Warrior longs to become The Farmer

In Bannang Sata he dreams of Nongbalamphu

Hoe, spade, machete wait, day and night, for his gun to be set down

 

Back from the battlefield

the house and plantation would be quiet: sunrise, birdsong,

smoke from the fire, water boiling, tea in the pot,

the scent of oleander, the fading smell of gunsmoke

 

Peace - means to seek and create another life

Patrol - an anecdote to recount years later

Duty - your children gathered around ready to listen

Fear - no need for caution any more

 

A modest dream - no desire to be a hero -

unassuming right to the end

His family just wants him back in one piece

The gift left behind after war has ended

 

Hope will never be lost

Despite nightmares it prevails

It's what everyone wants

Everyone caught in the crossfire

 

Hearts won't heal

while the country is a factory weaving flags for coffins

while it manufactures suffering

and digs up hatred while burying suffering

 

Grandfathers: the blameless earth

once again is drenched in blood

The south's new war reverberates with the north-east's memory

Nongbualamphu is shattered by the news

 

A nightmare extinguishes the dream of Bannang Sata

Lost, longed for, exiled

It's the nation's gift, its last reward

to take the farmer from his son forever

 

Such a small dream - and suddenly you're a hero!

A myth created, a dream destroyed

The farmhouse waits in vain for the old man's return

Who destroyed the gift? Who betrayed the promise?