eyes closing the cause of his tears
wrapped in the arms of the cold night
he begs you for a dare
we’ve been too soft
why can’t we be tougher
Tag: dich
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Bùi Kim-Anh | MAY SUNDAY 2021 (9)
I’m old so be told
time has turned its back on me
but by me always is poetry
the word mud
is it in rhythm with all those mad people around you
the word shun
you grabbed and kissed
the spellbinding fingers of whom for the first time picked up a pen
after thousands of years of trying to learn how to speak
the letters like a hunting trap
loose around the bait
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Emily Dickinson | “Hope” (1)
“Hy vọng” như những gì có lông –
Trên linh hồn đậu –
Và hát những bài hát không lời –
Mà không – bao giờ ngưng –
the songs in patches of the forest
and a peeling wall
the shedding rows of trees
within the glory of the sunset
and a verse
stuck endlessly inside a chest cavity
silent at the base of a heart
settled in the eyeball
abiding in the abyss of dreams
to be
forever in
disintegration
Sometimes
You’re here but barely
The feral cat eyes
The clumsy inept hands
Once in the form of a child
Flew across the room, glimpses of angel wings.
The sunlight was like fire through the cloud of bazan red dust. I ran after him shouting: “Men, come home as soon as you can!”. Men’s answer was a slurry of words whisked away by the wind. The bike, a red dot slowly fading away, disappeared into the emptiness of the mead. Nothing was left but the echo of the engine bouncing back from the surface of the silent lake. Đá Lake crystal clear during the dry season, imprinted clearly the form of a flock of birds with their wingspan stretching out far and wide, endlessly flying across the lake.
When he prays for the words, some whine, some wail, and some whimper in silence because they know. And in despair. The words are like endless drops of a storm beating down on each one of us, acting on a curse — an odd three hundred years.
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Friedrick Nietzsche
“và những người nhảy múa kia, nhìn như những người điên trong mắt của những người không bao giờ nghe nhạc”
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Alăng Văn Gáo | In Spite of it (1)
I’m going to continue
the path beneath my feet
the path within my heart
within my mind
the brilliant light
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Lê Vĩnh Tài | Who should I be? (271)
What are you
to cause the death of all colours
as soon as your nail polish dries up
through the howling flames
the poem on fire couldn’t be contacted
the poet has run away
escaped the smell of burning flesh
and the reader now dead on a high
with demons
the bait inside the traps were the losers
who did once held a prize
who did once had a glimpse of those ridiculous kings
the greed has turned everything into ghosts
I want the water to be less salty
like my tears
I want more thunder
to drown out the sound
of a song I love
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Hứa Hiếu | thE pOrtrAIt (18)
the portrait contains many crooked
outlines unacceptable
at face value, or hints of intricate questions
in every swaying sips of wine always the question of the odd
nonsense accepted
from so many words
the contradiction, and even in the gloom
its character
I can’t lie, if you have a few minutes spare
Đừng khóc vì tôi, vì tôi không còn bị ràng buộc nữa
Tôi sẽ đi tiếp theo con đường Thượng Đế đã dành cho tôi.
Tôi đã nắm lấy tay Ngài ngay lúc Ngài đã gọi tôi,
Tôi quay lưng đi và đã để lại mọi thứ.
—
Don’t grieve for me, for now I’m free,
I’m following the path God laid for me.
I took his hand when I heard his call,
I turned my back and left it all.
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Lê Vĩnh Tài | rage, rage on (268)
their outcries in hints of lightning
lightning advancing quietly into the night
the last of them
the last of them crying even when
their most feeble gestures were dances
by a fresh spring
a defense against the destruction of light
At what age are you expired?
too old for sex
too old for romance
too old to exist.
The cold is seeping into my bones
and my mind is stiff with desire.
I’ve told you dear
I’m a wildflower that rarely blooms
Thorny dessicated in the middle of a desert
Cut me open and all you’ll find is fibrous roots and tears.
“mỗi ngày tôi vẫn câu ý tưởng mình khi thời gian đang làm tổ trên đầu”. tự hoạ sáng.05072021.đtc
