Dear Mom... 

Every morning, the warm scent of rice from the cooker stirs me awake, 

The rhythmic echo of your footsteps, back and forth,

Followed by the sound of boiling water pouring over coffee in a cup,

Truly, it becomes a harmony I always long for, 

And, a melody I always wish to hear,

It is etched clearly in my mind.

Dear Mom... 

Your voice through the phone...

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