“When you bunk down,
Pull your ears and make your bed flatly,” Mother often said.
It means to listen to the others with all ears
It should mean to judge with the straight spine

When degenerating in life
I can’t help thinking my mother, the lamplight

Four kids of Huitoto, an aboriginal tribe in Columbia,
Struggled to survive in the Amazon Forest for forty days
And in a plane crash lost their parents, who had accompanied them. The ages of the kids were ranged from thirteen to one
Facing terror, they turned to rely on the deadly land,
Broke through a way in the pitchy despair, and moved toward light. They treated their mother’s last words as their compass
Facing death with docile obedience.
The steep jungle turned out to be a shining, bright, silent forest.
The unknown trees turned out to be warm blankets
Incredibly deep darkness soothed the kids gently.
If the jungle of life pounces on you with horns,

The terrible and dangerous situation may become peace and rest. This is called the mother’s compass.

This poem needs no translation.
This message comes from a distant country, located in another side of the earth.