Tag: thaihao

I grew up on a windy field
Gales of wind like embers delivered from the Sun
Incinerating our naps beneath the trees
The fields bleached white by dead fish
Together with the old
Carried to be buried at the spine of the mountain
Decimated by the tramplings of cows and buffalos
The sandy soil tumulus void of green grass the entire summer

The forest storm ever ceasing
My ox cart full of books soggy, muddy
The spine of the books
Held the details of fallen stars

I’m there composing poetry in thoughts of philosophy
By the rubber sap consuming mice
By the petty thievery of men and women
By the buildings by the schools void of the sound of people
Nothing but the scuttering sound of mice trying to make a living in the sewers

I grew up under the shredded clouds, meadows of thin harvests
By skinny buffalos sneaking bites of rice on the edge of the field
There were very mean guards at the fields
Drunk every day
Took the buffalos as hostages
We follow them in tears through the bruising country dusk
Together with the screams of ravens over our heads

I shall greet myself in familiarity
and we shall hand in hand
walk endlessly
the banks of the river of white reeds

Void of the coucal visit
I shall light a cigarette, make the clouds
set them free

a charcoal exclamation mark in white
a cross
the words brightly burning into the night

I’m awake in the heart of the mountain
the decade old flame kindling still in wisps of smoke
my father’s back an erect boulder
my mother’s hair
the whiteness of dreams

Even though I’m acquainted with such lies
no ripe golden harvest
but such fabrications are the source of my strength
so we could cross
this desolate, devastating land.