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Sabtu, 17 Oktober 2009

the story of a father


The sun was low, nearly drowned sun covered by clouds, grass roots and cassava trees waving in the wind in the afternoon.
a middle-aged man sitting in the jackfruit tree which has long fallen consumed by age.

The sun has gone, the mosque call to prayer echoing resonance of vibration to the horizon, he could not move the legs felt stiff to go from one place to leave memories million to fabricate the heart.

On the east side of men of middle age, there was an old red bicycle. He looked at the bikes, bicycle he had bought with love and affection for the baby to smile all day.

"if you were there my son? play the bike ? say is .... I want to play my father!"
aaaaacccchhhkkkkk !!!! middle-aged man shouted loudly and occasionally wiping tears falling down her cheeks.

male middle-aged stands, grabbed a red bike and play it on the porch for a while that no longer crowded.
"I remember you, my son, I hope you're happy and not suffer like this father.

Dark days and had covered the sun truly never seen again.
"I still like this, pause here, in this place, no laughter, no jokes, no wave of baby's hand, no more smiles ... no words" My dad wanted to play ".

"Oh ..... Well life is hard...I love you my son" said one middle-aged man when he died.

1 komentar:

moenas 21 Oktober 2009 20.13  

walaupun saya gak bisa bahasa inggris tapi saya tetap suport kepada teman2 yg pakai bahasa inggris

sukses terus browwww lanjutkan

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