Published: August 23, 2025
夜雨倾盆
闪电为雷声伴奏
西南季风换上凉爽的心情
把一周的闷热
从地面上大扫除
我暗暗欢喜
想 今夜能睡个好觉
哪知雨一停
两只青蛙
你一来 我一往
呱呱 呱呱
凌晨两点半
仍毫无倦意
漆黑的房
把我引进金黄色隧道
回到小学的长假
外婆家小住
与她 和表姐
共眠一室
雨后的夜
外头的青蛙也在“呱呱”唱
我睡不着
试图和表姐聊天
把熟睡的外婆吵醒
我抱怨青蛙太吵
她用潮州话轻轻劝：
“可嗯，麦观伊。”
（睡吧，别理它）
她的声音软得像被雨水打湿的棉花
我闭上眼睛开始数绵羊
不知何时 青蛙停了
只剩几滴雨
从屋檐滴答落下
我被拉回现实
熟悉的场景
无奈的感悟
心底涌起
一阵苦涩的空虚
不同的时空
相同的漆黑
而今
只是少了外婆的叮嘱
多了一道跨不过
叫时间的沟
即便知道换来的是无声
我还是抱怨：
阿嬷——
外面的青蛙
太吵。
可你再也听不见了。
How the night rain pours!
Lightning plays accompaniment to thunder.
The Southwest Monsoon changes into a cooler mood,
sweeping away a week's worth of heat from the ground.
I rejoice in secret —
Oh, I shall sleep well tonight.
But once the rain stops,
two frogs begin taking turn to call
croak, croak, croak, croak.
And by half past two,
they never seem to tire.
The pitch-dark room
leads me into a golden tunnel,
back to those long school holidays
where at Ama's (grandmother's) I stayed,
sharing a room with her and my cousin.
On the night after rain, frogs outside
croaked their chorus too.
Not able to sleep, I tried to chat with cousin.
Ama woken up by our chatter.
I complained to her
the frogs were too loud.
In Teochew dialect, she gently soothed me
"Sleep now, don't mind them."
Her voice, soft as cotton soaked in rain.
I closed my eyes, counting sheep.
I don't know when but the frogs have fallen silent.
All left to hear is a few drops of rain ticked from the eaves.
I am then pulled back into the present -
once again a scene too familiar.
I am left with a helpless realization of reality,
a bitter emptiness filling my heart.
The same darkness, different times.
Only now, I am left with Ama's bygone whisper,
and an uncrossable trench that
separates us called time.
Even knowing that it brings only silence,
I still complain into the air.
Ama--
the frogs outside are too loud.
But you can no longer hear me.
3.8.2025
