NIGHT & THE CONTINUING FALLING VERSES OF… (16)

nothing is more natural than composing poetry
including that incredible verse

you take a rope
attached it to a cloud
head swaying
it will by its volition fly

through it’s narrowed eyes watched
them read
devastatingly

much like rope jumping
her spinning
the rope around
and around your head…




1
if you desire
what you’ve never
had

then
you should do
what you dare to never do


2
she parted her lips
called out

the spectres of language
gave her anxiety
she hated it, the uselessness of silence

chill of winter
seagulls cries through the window
when he disappeared
into the poem
and she had
mistaken it for sunlight
on the window sill

she would stand up to
any men
but she only willingly accepts
his hypnotic words of sleep

thereafter
his ghost
residing in the shadow of the poem
hid
inside her
an anxiety
persistent
and relentless


3
after it rained overnight
a passing storm through the city
she listened to a frog’s
timid croaky
serenade

she thought: the frog’s serenade
after making love
all night

the frog
like those men
after their quickie
ran, she hated it

but, the frog, its serenade
through the stormy night
the frog
freely
sang

like when it jumps
she wouldn’t be bothered about
chasing or following it
around…


4
we shall wander and play for two days
at the start of spring

the professor worried we’ll be too relaxed
tết too busy making fruit candy
so he gave us more homework in Math
Chemistry
X + Y = Z

we can but ride the bus
up the hill
the pines were separated in their own way

we slept
a long sleep
knowing we would be late

in the end we must face
the homework that’s been given by him
with little resistance
since none of us wants a confrontation
we slipped away
quickly
a game of cat and mouse

quickly
when she wrapped her wedding ring
in a piece of soft cotton wool
as she was
thrown
into
an all night
fight


5
we throw a fridge out
on the lawn
there
the plums remained fresh

don’t worry about who should be a writer
like needy pestering little children
the unresolved bitter altercations
who left the brown bag behind
the words might be in English
probably incomprehensible

a little secretive
like hiding the password of an inbox
unlike in the past
we wrote each other’s secrets on cigarette boxes

like a sweaty gap
on someone’s forehead
something
one would discard
dancing
in a striptease

the lawn
the wheelbarrow and the fridge
people now believe it’s theirs
even when
the middle axle in its present state rusty

even after the plug has been pulled out
discarded
forgot about…


6
perhaps September
may cross into October
painfully we stared at each other
spelling out: u, bl blue
the fall fading

since summer means
we shall wait for each other
till fall

as her eyes
looked
in two the nights
bright
and baffled quite


7
the soggy and wet letters in the alphabet a b c d
spoke quietly to each other each time they touched
our pillow
our cold and damp sleep
wet and foggy
in time leaves behind something of themselves
and dreams

earnest
fervid, for the third time
everyone thought we’re
exhausted

not sure if we
listened to the bells
resounding in our ears
and a corner was shutting
tightly three corners, the pain like four walls
ceasing through the years in complete greyness

touching anything make it fade away
disappeared
like artillery over coordinates

it said: we’ve shrivelled up
and the vowels closed
their eyes: a e i o u

wrapping themselves tightly around a wrist
as we would hug a ball
ran one round of the oval
enacting a monologue
I love you
in braille, with the tips of your fingers
separated by each beat
each rhyme

but we won’t
ask: do we still have to
comb and dry the dripping wet hair
like letters separating into lines
soldiers bleeding

the vernacular injured
it’s dripping
dripping dripping dripping
ceasing upon four walls
censorship
in five hues of grey pebbles

in conclusion
we got nothing left to say
it can but
bled
plasma
each time we touched it

that particular night the sky was full of stars


8
white paper is now grey
since the rain can recall nothing but
fluffy blue sky


9
the curious words
captivating
the imagination
of children

it never expects
the Sun
in its tumulus
residing eyes on
a woman in a robe
covered to the heels
dreams still of the memories
exploding, up her spine

as though as you dream
the words met each other
they lit up in a green garden
yellowing
into hues of a tumulus

words
like people
only in death are displayed
gloriously
six feet under

and she knew
me,
me, me, me
me, me, me
me, someone who talks way too much
in her
so so
winter

like the word on the next line
it has a chance to rest
but it’s still tired


10
nothing is more natural than composing poetry
including that incredible verse

you take a rope
attached it to a cloud
head swaying
it will by its volition fly

through it’s narrowed eyes watched
them read
devastatingly

much like rope jumping
her spinning
the rope around
and around your head…


11
the verse singing
until
the waves of her pushes me
into a boulder
ashore

as I open
the book
fingers quivering

reading
see
her cropped hair
trying to expose
all the secrets
reserved for the shore
only she
and the boulder
knows

clearly
the sea, the boulder, the world
breathlessly all wandering
searching for her

as she hangs up her
bikini
as the waves of her
stop singing…


12
silent
trials
the cold air

I told you: I’m a flower
a gust of wind
that gently touches the nose

I told you: darkness
in love is unnecessary
we forget
it’s a bit small, and fairly short
invasive
touching
for no reason
at all

indeed
flowers, wither
like the one night
you stared at the fireflies
pungent like June

I told you: I’m
hollow
with not a word
as I hid behind
a tight hug
a little bashful, as I fall
soundly asleep

awkward is hope
since we’re
always
afraid


13
love
was born
on the roofs of homes
the day the republic
and Trần Dần the poet
raised
a red flag

made of porcelain
fragile and a little cold
when you tried to leave

it enjoys
small spaces
and traces
you, in a limiting circle

edged on your face, stark
a stretch mark
a state so sappy
sadly
no one has the nerve
to laugh
even at a wedding

it’s faithful
to its own thoughts
even after watching
your cry

love
it often secretly crawls into the stomach
it desires the flesh
that’s is when it’s an issue

it likes to leave on its victims a mark
hence many lying there at the park
gives off this constant stench

it’s
not ruthless
it adds a few more lines
on
mother’s
face

it, ah I meant you
too
afraid, an institution
a flame trying to
learn manners…

it: bread, the silence, a nemesis, the summit
it makes you a bit uncomfortable
when you can’t keep up

it’s round and about
but you’re pregnant still
gave birth, but now
you’re still in pain and afraid

you feel
to love or not to love
every which way you’ll lose…


14
me
on this side of the river
ah no
by a hotel window
looking down at the Han river

a beam of light
splintered leaves on the glass window
as though
I’m
the dark…


15
empty
my shirt is completely empty
ah hah I see a crack on my belly

my pants is completely empty
ah hah she’s laughing as though she’s floating in a dream

my tie hanging mid-air
ah the emptiness
choking me

still there
where, I need the emptiness
completely empty
her discarding
all the evidence that is me
bit by bit

here I reside
two empty eyes
a pair of empty shoes
empty feet
traces of sweaty
smelly
socks
and an old newspaper

damn, did it rain
the sunlight blaring noon
looking through me is the emptiness


16
I’m wandering around
asking myself
why not leave my mark
my footprints behind?

I’m after the past
I’m after the future
I won’t look back
I’m afraid
I might not find
My shadow…

– you’re still alive?
– you’re no longer a poet…

a drunk asked out of the blue
“yes, yes,” I replied
quickly
“yes, yes,” quick like
the torn soles of her shoes
mistakenly
wading
the river
only after two night
in such a plight


17
within the four walls surrounding inspiration
out of anyone’s earshot
I’ve been thrown
from my standing
as a poet

on my way out
from the hopelessness
knowingly I messed with a woman
with a look of seriousness
in thoughtless desire
recklessly
I fingered the allegory

I wanted to surrender
knowing
women like her
never
compose derogatory poetry

I wanted to ask God
begged His pardon
but He’s too far
now I’m randomly shouting protest
but what I am not is Shakespeare

so in the end I decided
to share my voice
and the mystery of Shakespeare
with the guy always by her side
like a shadow

I am
a shadow within a shadow
listening to her mumbling:

– look, son
This meaningless poetry of yours
could still be a drop of life
glorious like last night
filling up to flow into a stream
after you, son, down
6 bottles
of red Saigon beer


18
if say a boy, someone’s son
must endure discrimination
to the day he dies

will there be a need
for her love or hate?

will she need
a trial
a death
sentence?


19
petals
like her clothes
on the grass

its fragrance
the bitterness at the bend
in passing
the souls beneath our feet
parading naked and bare
each afternoon
long
so long
and sound
in the fog


20
when he tagged flowers on her facebook
his lips moved constantly
twisting
her tongue
lightly
into a solid ending
like the poem after each rhythmic throb

the crazy
thoughtlessness of a madman
a woodpecker stuck in an ant nest
destroying everything
letters, images
during the contest
the exchange

flowers
like something she spoke off
till her lips were swollen
her ears ached
her eyes
and his drifted
into the darkness
and only until then
it will stop


21
the young woman was a window
opened to paradise

by which hand
picked a piece of the sky
as it fell to
the ground
from up high…


22
breathing not like the last person in the world
the very last breath

bells
on the towers ceasing
crystals forming on the grass
reflections of dew drops
like moonlight in silence
gradual flickers of light
baby blue on the bed head

unreal thoughts of the day
fleeting memories
like warm silk on the hook
she uses to hang her clothes
in the bathroom

in the darkness of moments
exhaustion
falls freedom
an awareness of nothing, nothing
compare to your last night
in a small village
absolutely devastatingly
beautiful


23
Night is the outside falling
as she upon herself
adorned petals

How did she manage it?
have you ever asked

she’s asleep on a bed
continued to sleep with them
as they divide
her into halves
like the oddness of that
village?

have you noticed
the flickering reaction of a candle flame
flaring up before it’s gone
like you’re awake then asleep?

the snake of the city
has slithered into villages
into the caves
the seven meadows resounding
only you could hear the familiar sound of dogs barking

you learned how to love the quiet
watching each stretch mark expanding on her thighs
the soft landing and furtiveness in the creation of children
to later send into the darkness
oh country…

a brown village
busy painting brown images
not to hang but to disappear
into the wall, can you imagine
all the children of this world
born
to him
in two nights


24
you’re drifting sweetly to sleep
asking how it would end?
the flights of the soul
and the Sun setting
the day we’re awake together

a wasteland of darkness
silence like a journey
within
you’re shimmering changing
into a pile of ash
you claim still: romantic

though often of you forget to tell her
how much
you love her…


25
a white cloud
or was it red?
appeared yesterday
between two blooming azaleas
after wastefully
the petals fell
into the world

the strokes of colour
the empty days
white linen
like you
the day barely bloomed
like the night
already slowly falling

all the signs were useless
even the clouds tried to be weightless
poetry, and concluded in no less
words that shall never
come back

ever


26
the squeaky sound of a door hinge woke her
the odd sound unnerving
together with
the odd smell

she’s in bed
too frightened
to even look up at the door
a mere shift of her chin

damp wet fear
sinister projection
vampire?
werewolf?
Bluebeard?
…

she cried: “Who’s there?”
as she was taught by her mother
she recites her mantra like the wind

but it was unhinged
the gnarly creature
bit her
swallowed her whole

left a stroke of dawn
on the bed
like blood


27
her
eyes
as
sharp
as a
needle
used to
hook and hang them all up
her men and those men
who were not…


28
you’re possibly a bit sad
possibly
sweating
nauseated

a refugee
next to a man
sleeping
in a cage
next to you

you admit
he’s not some vampire
his mountain borough home
has a lovely breakfast
quite delicious

to a young girl
he’s not a ghost
but somehow
he managed to
go through
all the young women
from elsewhere

inside
a room full
strange artefacts
watching the final
his last shot
the entire plasma screen exploding
liquid crystal


29
you could take in her breath
as she screams

the imprints of her tongue on your skin
you believe you could
contain
douse
her fire

each time she
ravage you
amorously from the back door
like
a magazine of bullets


30
September
sunlight
sea of rain
the raincoat worn was
a spiderweb…


31
the moon
falls into a pond
shimmering like a necklace
she likes to wear to school long ago

the carp swallows
the moon in its mouth
its eyes dotted with clouds

the water blooms
as soon as someone throws in
a handful of shimmering stars

in the folds of the Sun’s crusty face
everything took a dark turn
bit by bit disappearing like bats
upside down dangling like a curtain of leaves

it all slows down in the end
as she blooms
her body turning
into the moon
a carp in the pond


32
a huge tower of dust in the distance
formidable against the sky
wholly consuming
leaving not a speck of dust

the summit like a horn
thrust against a difficult situation
seemingly she’s drifting
in the dark

push around and twisted
by the wind and the Sun
you’re in shock from all the waves
perhaps, their shape could only be confirm
when the horn is twisted
within your head and heart

it hides a delusion
the source of waves and stars
rolling and twisting
connecting
with each other
before
sleeps
sets in


33
we would rather hide
in the shadows of a sauna
like yesterday you said: tôi yêu bạn
and we connected through a strategic partnering

unlike now
lying around
the entire lacklustre Sunday
you say: stop talking, little birdie, stop with the chit chat
or: are you hungry? sweet dreams

gosh the hollow words of deceit
starving us
to death


34
leaves
born in the first light
of spring

changes colour
in warmer
summer days
green green hues

glorious
in moments
of autumn

tries to hold back
a kind of imprisonment
in the dark
cold
full of the anxieties of winter


35
often
you need something
to write about
or something
to say
not necessarily profound
or small happiness found

like yellow
lacklustre sunlight today

like her
message this morning


36
silk
and a curtain of brown mist
into each other twisting
forming a layer of cream
a velvety yellow
soft
and smooth
within
her
a purity
brilliant
upon a podium
not just stylish
but also oozing
temptation

sin
sinful
sinned before 
wading through the river
and be 
again free 
from sin 

37
the demons beneath the bridge
the way back to the village
trilling sound of weasels
like the sudden screeching of the brake on a tire

its chewing and savouring
the eager fame of mosquitoes
its steps green, weeds
through the cracks in the concrete
where people pee and
litter

it warns everybody
all night by the clock
tick tock tick tock
the trilling of a weasel
right by everyone’s brown pillow
after exhaustive romps

rain in the morning
on my head falling
rocks
skulls cracking romps

the village
fur of a weasel tail growing longer still
like tadpoles

semen ejaculating
four corners of the world
mayhem
many legendary procreation

like the idea of flying
it continues to swindle
scare little
children


38
he sketches
sadness
with coloured chalk
at 3 in the morning

male
tears
falling
a river
thought
dried up
long
ago…

ĐÊM VÀ NHỮNG KHÚC RỜI… (16)

không có gì dễ hơn làm một bài thơ
ngay cả bài thơ kỳ diệu

bạn lấy sợi dây thừng
buộc bài thơ vào đám mây
tự nó bay
cái đầu nó lủng lẳng

nó nheo nhìn
khi người ta đọc
và nát óc

giống như trò nhảy dây
khi nàng quay
và xoay sợi dây
quanh đầu bạn…


1
nếu bạn muốn
cái mà bạn chưa bao giờ
có

thì bạn sẽ
làm thứ bạn chưa bao giờ dám
làm


2
nàng mở miệng để kêu
báo động

những bóng ma ngôn ngữ
làm nàng lo lắng
nàng ghét, sự vô ích của im lặng

mùa đông lạnh
qua cửa sổ, con hải âu đã khóc
khi anh biến mất
trong một bài thơ
mà nàng ngỡ
là ánh nắng trên cửa sổ

nàng đối mặt với
rất nhiều người đàn ông
nhưng với anh
nàng chấp nhận những lời mê
ngủ

sau đó
hồn ma của anh
nằm trong bóng tối của bài
thơ, cứ ẩn nấp
trong nàng
một mối lo âu
miên man
dai dẳng


3
sau đêm mưa
thành phố vừa
bị bão, nàng lắng nghe bài hát
của một con ếch
nhút nhát

nàng nghĩ: chắc là con ếch hát
sau một đêm
làm tình

con ếch
như những người đàn ông
chỉ phăm phăm xong
rồi chạy, nàng ghét

nhưng, con ếch, nó hát
sau đêm mưa
con ếch
nó hát những điều
nó thích

như khi nó nhảy
mà nàng
không bao giờ chịu
chạy
theo


4
chúng ta sẽ rong chơi hai ngày
khi bắt đầu mùa xuân

ông thầy giáo sợ chúng ta ham chơi
ngày tết cứ lo làm mứt
nên đã cho nhiều bài tập môn Hoá
môn Toán
X + Y = Z

chúng ta không thể không đi
xe buýt đến ngọn đồi
thông reo theo cách riêng của nó

chúng ta đã ngủ
một giấc thật dài
ngay cả khi biết mình sẽ bị muộn

cuối cùng chúng ta đối mặt
với mớ bài tập của ổng
thật dễ dàng
vì không ai muốn chống lại
chúng ta trượt đi
nhanh như lúc chơi trò úp máng
nước

nhanh như
lúc nàng băng chiếc nhẫn
bằng một miếng bông mềm
khi lao vào
trận
đánh
suốt cả
đêm

5
chúng ta mang chiếc tủ lạnh
ra bãi cỏ
để có
các quả mận tươi non

đừng có nghĩ ai sẽ là nhà văn
những đứa trẻ con học đòi
cay đắng, cuộc tranh cãi chưa được giải quyết
chiếc túi màu nâu ai bỏ quên
những dòng chữ hình như tiếng Anh
chúng ta không hiểu

cũng có vẻ bí ẩn
như bây giờ chúng ta giấu mật khẩu của hộp thư
không như ngày xưa
chúng ta viết bí mật của nhau lên bao thuốc lá

như một vết nứt
rịn mồ hôi trên trán người
như thể cái gì
chúng ta ném ra
trong một màn thoát y
và múa

bãi cỏ
chiếc xe cút kít và tủ lạnh
bây giờ nhiều người nghĩ là của họ
cả khi trục giữa của nó
bị rỉ sét

cả khi ổ cắm
điện bị rút ra và lăn lóc bỏ
quên…


6
có thể tháng chín
đã sang tháng mười
chúng ta nhìn đau đớn
đánh vần: anh, xờ anh xanh
màu xanh của lá
mờ dần mùa thu

vì mùa hè có nghĩa
chúng ta sẽ chờ nhau
đến tận thu vàng

như mắt nàng
nhìn
2 đêm
vừa sáng suốt
vừa hoang mang


7
những chữ cái a b c d bị mềm đi và ướt
nó thì thầm khi chạm vào
gối nệm của chúng ta
giấc ngủ lạnh và ẩm
ướt và mờ
như sau này
dấu vết còn vương lại và mơ

tha thiết
rên xiết, đến lần thứ ba
ai cũng nghĩ chúng ta
mệt lả

không biết chúng ta
đang nghe
tiếng chuông âm vang cả hai
tai, và một góc bị khép chặt
lại ba góc, nỗi đau như bốn bức
tường, ngưng lại đủ năm màu xám

làm cho nó nhờn ra khi chạm
vào đâu đó, trong khoảng cách
như pháo binh canh toạ độ

nó nói: chúng ta bị co thắt
và các con chữ nhắm mắt
lại: ê a ơ i e

nó quấn chặt vòng tay
như ta ôm quả bóng
chạy hết một vòng sân
thực hiện cuộc độc thoại
em yêu anh
với bảng chữ cái của người mù, bằng các đầu ngón tay
tách ra từng nhịp
từng vần

nhưng chúng ta sẽ không
đặt ra câu hỏi: chúng ta còn phải
lau mái tóc ướt và chải
như con chữ đang rẽ dòng
người lính đang chảy máu

chữ nghĩa đã bị thương
nó nhỏ giọt
nhỏ giọt nhỏ giọt nhỏ giọt
ngưng tụ trên bốn bức tường
kiểm duyệt có năm màu
đá xám

cuối cùng
chúng ta không còn biết nói gì
nó chỉ
chịu chảy
nước nhờn, khi
ta chạm vào

đêm ấy trời đầy sao


8
trang giấy trắng bây giờ màu xám
vì bị mưa nhưng nó chỉ nhớ
những chữ mây xanh


9
chữ
nó làm nên tò mò
nhiều khi ảo tưởng
của mấy đứa trẻ

nó không ngờ
ngay cả mặt trời
trong ngôi mộ của mình
vẫn nằm nhìn
một người phụ nữ mặc áo choàng
phủ kín tận gót
vẫn mơ những kỷ niệm
nổ tung, dọc theo xương sống

như thể các con chữ
đã gặp nhau, lúc nàng nằm mộng
nó phát sáng trong khu vườn màu xanh
đổi thành
màu vàng của ngôi mộ

con chữ
như người
khi chết mới nằm phơi
rực rỡ
trong đất

và nàng biết
tôi,
tôi, tôi, tôi
tôi, tôi, tôi
tôi, chỉ là một người nói lắp
trong mùa đông vặn vẹo
xà lẹo
của nàng

như con chữ xuống hàng
nằm ngủ mà còn
mệt


10
không có gì dễ hơn làm một bài thơ
ngay cả bài thơ kỳ diệu

bạn lấy sợi dây thừng
buộc bài thơ vào đám mây
tự nó bay
cái đầu nó lủng lẳng

nó nheo nhìn
khi người ta đọc
và nát óc

giống như trò nhảy dây
khi nàng quay
và xoay sợi dây
quanh đầu bạn…


11
bài hát
cho đến khi
những con sóng của nàng xô tôi
vào một tảng
đá, trên bờ biển

tôi mở
cuốn sách
ra, với ngón tay run rẩy

tôi đọc
và thấy
một mái tóc
cắt ngắn, như muốn tiết lộ
mọi bí mật
chỉ cho bờ
biển, nàng
và tảng đá
biết, mà thôi

rõ ràng
biển, tảng đá cũng như thế giới
đang lang thang
đứt hơi, tìm nàng

trong lúc nàng đang phơi
bộ đồ
bơi, khi
những con sóng của nàng
thôi hát


12
im lặng
thi hành
không khí lạnh

tôi đã nói với bạn: tôi là một bông hoa
một làn gió
chạm nhẹ vào mũi

tôi đã nói với bạn: bóng
tối là sự thừa thãi của tình yêu
chúng ta không nhớ
nó hơi nhỏ, và thấp thoáng
xâm phạm
chạm
vào
không có lý do

rõ ràng
bông hoa, héo
như lần bạn nhìn chằm chằm
vào con đom đóm trong một đêm
thơm như tháng Sáu

tôi đã nói với bạn: tôi
trống rỗng
không tiếng động
khi nấp phía sau một cái ôm
thật chặt
một cái nhìn hơi ấm, rơi vào
giấc ngủ

hy vọng khó lòng
vì chúng ta
lúc nào
cũng sợ


13

tình yêu
nó sinh ra
trên những mái nhà
ngày nền cộng hòa
và thi sĩ trần dần
treo cờ
màu đỏ

nó được làm bằng sứ
hơi lạnh và dễ vỡ
khi bạn muốn dời đi

nó thích
một không gian nhỏ bé
và nó vẽ
bạn, trong một vòng tròn hữu hạn

nó khắc vào khuôn mặt bạn
một vết rạn
như sự xúc động
trầm trọng, không ai
dám
cười
cả trong đám cưới

nó trung thành
với những gì nó nghĩ
nó cũng nhìn thấy nước mắt
của bạn

tình yêu
nó hay lẻn chui vào bụng
nó thích thịt da
mới ra nông nỗi

vì nó thích đánh dấu các nạn nhân
nên nhiều người phải nằm dưới sân
và bốc hơi luôn ở đó

nó
không phải tàn nhẫn
nó chỉ thêm vài nếp nhăn
trên gương
mặt
mẹ

nó, à quên bạn
quá chừng
sợ hãi, một trung tâm
một ngọn lửa
bạn tập kính thưa

nó: bánh mì, im lặng, thù địch, đỉnh cao
có khi làm bạn hơi khó chịu
vì nhiều cái bạn không kịp hiểu

nó đặt vòng
nhưng bạn vẫn mang thai
và sinh nở, bây giờ
bạn vẫn còn đau và sợ

bạn thấy
yêu hay là không yêu
kiểu gì bạn cũng vỡ


14
tôi
đứng bên này sông
à không
đứng bên cửa sổ khách sạn
nhìn ra sông Hàn

một cái cây ánh sáng
đập lá vào kính cửa
như thể tôi là
bóng tối


15
rỗng
cái áo của tôi trống rỗng
a ha tôi nhìn vết nứt trên bụng

cái quần của tôi trống rỗng
a ha nàng cười như trôi vào mộng

cà-vạt của tôi treo trong không khí
ôi sự trống rỗng
siết cổ tôi

vẫn còn
nơi tôi cần trống rỗng
hoàn toàn trống rỗng
các dấu vết của tôi
nàng xoá
từng chút một

giờ đây tôi chỉ còn ngồi
hai mắt trống rỗng
đôi giày trống rỗng
hai chân trống rỗng
có vệt mồ hôi
mùi
tất chân và
báo cũ

cha ơi là mưa
nắng cũng như trưa
nhìn vào tôi
trống rỗng


16
tôi đang lang thang
và tự hỏi
tại sao tôi
không để lại dấu chân người?

tôi đã đi theo ngày hôm qua
tôi sẽ đi theo tất cả các ngày sắp tới
tôi sẽ không nhìn lại
tôi sợ rằng
tôi không thấy cái bóng của
tôi

– bạn có còn sống?
– bạn không còn là nhà thơ nữa rồi

một gã say tự nhiên hỏi và
“vâng, vâng,” tôi trả lời
một cách nhanh chóng
“vâng, vâng,” tôi nhanh như
đôi giày há mõm
của nàng
có tội
lội qua sông
mới hai đêm
mà hỏng


17
hầu như tôi đã bị ném ra khỏi chỗ của thơ
tôi
trong bốn bức tường bao vây cảm hứng
không ai nghe
thấy

tôi lên đường, bắt đầu
thoát ra khỏi tuyệt vọng
để quấy rối một nàng mà ánh mắt
tôi hiểu là rất khó
khi tôi muốn như vậy
nên tôi bậy
bạ ngón tay của phép ẩn dụ

tôi thậm chí còn muốn đầu hàng
tôi biết
những người phụ nữ như nàng
không
làm thơ bậy bạ

tôi muốn nói chuyện với Chúa
xin phép Ngài
nhưng Ngài xa quá
nên tôi hét lên như bây giờ dân oan khiếu nại
nhưng như vậy tôi lại không phải
là Shakespeare

cuối cùng tôi chia
giọng nói của tôi
sự bí ẩn của Shakespeare
cho gã lúc nào cũng ngồi bên nàng
như cái bóng

tôi
làm bóng của một cái bóng
nghe nàng thì thầm:

– con trai
những bài thơ vô nghĩa của con
cũng có thể là một giọt cuộc sống
hay như tối hôm qua
nó đầy lên và đã chảy thành dòng
sau khi con nốc xong
6 chai
bia sài gòn đỏ…


18
nếu như đứa con trai
oan sai
đến chết

vậy có cần
nàng ghét hoặc yêu?

nàng có cần
mở phiên tòa
tuyên án
tử hình không?


19
cánh hoa
như quần áo
của nàng trên cỏ

mùi hương của nó
vị cay đắng của khúc cua
khi ta đi ngang qua
linh hồn dưới hai bàn chân
ta, vẫn diễu hành trần truồng
trong mỗi buổi chiều
lâu
thật lâu
và sâu
thăm thẳm sương mù


20
khi anh tag hoa qua Facebook của nàng
đôi môi của anh đang di chuyển
và xoay
lưỡi của nàng
nhẹ nhàng
nó kết thúc tốt đẹp
như bài thơ sau mỗi âm tiết

những suy nghĩ
phát điên như người ngớ ngẩn
như chim gõ kiến bị mắc kẹt bên trong ổ kiến
chúng ta đánh bại tất cả
chữ và hình ảnh
trong cùng một trận
giao hoan

hoa
như câu chuyện
cho đến khi môi của nàng bị sưng
tai của nàng tê cóng
mắt của nàng
và anh
cùng trôi vào bóng tối
thì thôi
nha


21
cô ấy là một cửa sổ
mở vào thiên đường

bàn tay nào
đã nhặt mảnh trời
khi nó rơi
xuống
đất


22
không thở như người cuối cùng
ở vào thời điểm cuối

khi chuông
ở tháp chuông đã lắng
khi cỏ kết tinh trên bãi cỏ
phản chiếu giọt sương
như ánh trăng trong im lặng
ánh sáng từ lần nhấp chuột
xanh mờ trên đầu giường

suy nghĩ của ngày không tồn tại
những ký ức trượt lên
như vải lụa ấm áp từ cái móc
nàng dùng treo quần áo
khi đi tắm

trong bóng tối của những khoảnh khắc
mệt mỏi rơi tự do
ý thức của sự không có gì, không có gì
sẽ so sánh với đêm cuối cùng của bạn
ở một ngôi làng
lãng mạn
dã man


23
đêm, chỉ là phía bên ngoài rơi xuống
như khi nàng trút cánh hoa
trên người

có bao giờ bạn hỏi
như thế nào, nàng đến?

nàng ngủ trên giường này
nằm tiếp theo những người kia
họ chia
nàng làm đôi
như sự kì lạ của ngôi
làng đó?

có bao giờ bạn nghĩ
phản ứng chập chờn của ngọn nến
chớp lên rồi tắt
như bạn thức rồi ngủ?

con rắn của thành phố
đã trườn về làng
chui vào hang
bảy ngọn đồi âm vang
chỉ có bạn nghe tiếng chó kêu quen thuộc

bạn đã học cách yêu sự im lặng
xem các vết nứt căng ra trên đùi
cuộc đổ bộ mềm mại và lén lút để tạo ra những đứa trẻ
sau này chỉ dám gửi vào bóng tối
đất nước ôi

ngôi làng màu nâu
dùng để vẽ các bức tranh màu nâu
không phải treo mà dường như làm tan chảy
bức tường, bạn hãy tưởng tượng
tất cả trẻ em của thế giới
được ra đời
với gã
sau chỉ 2 đêm…


24
bạn đang trôi tuyệt vời trong giấc ngủ
và tự hỏi nó sẽ kết thúc thế nào?
các chuyến bay linh hồn
và hoàng hôn
ngày chúng ta cùng thức

một sa mạc của bóng tối
sự im lặng như cuộc hành trình
vào bên trong
bạn long lanh chuyển sang
một đống tro tàn
bạn vẫn nói là: lãng mạn

đôi khi bạn quên để nói
bạn đã yêu
cô ấy biết bao nhiêu


25
một đám mây màu trắng
hay màu đỏ?
xuất hiện ngày hôm qua
giữa hai đoá hoa đỗ quyên
khi cánh hoa lãng phí
rơi
lên trái đất

một phác thảo về màu sắc
những ngày trống rỗng Một khung
vải trắng
như em
ngày vừa chớm nở
như đêm
vừa rơi mất dần

các dấu hiệu hư không
đám mây cũng cố mênh mông
bài thơ, và kết thúc của dòng
chữ không còn quay đầu
lại

mãi mãi


26
nàng tỉnh giấc nghe cánh cửa ọp ẹp
hoảng sợ với âm thanh kỳ lạ
và mùi hương
cũng lạ

nằm trên giường
nàng sợ hãi không dám nhìn ra cửa
dù chỉ là
ngoái đầu lại

sự ẩm ướt sợ hãi
tưởng tượng ma
cà rồng?
người sói?
quỷ râu xanh?


nàng kêu: “Ai đó?”
mẹ vẫn dặn và nàng vẫn nhớ
đọc thần chú như cơn gió

nhưng nó
con quái vật gầm gừ
cắn
và nuốt chửng nàng

để lại một vệt bình minh
trên chiếc giường
như máu


27
ánh mắt
kim loại sắc nhọn
nàng
móc những người đàn ông của mình
cả không phải của mình
cứ
treo
hết
cả
lên


28
có thể là một chút đau buồn
bạn có thể bị
đổ mồ hôi trộm
nôn mửa

bạn có thể tị nạn
nơi người đàn ông
đang ngủ
trong lồng
bên cạnh bạn

bạn chỉ nhận ra
ông không phải là ma cà rồng
ngôi làng của ông
có nhiều món ăn
sáng Khá ngon

với một người con gái
ông không phải là con ma
nhưng bằng cách nào đó
ông vẫn có thể
xuyên qua
các cô con gái
từ nơi khác đến

bên trong
căn phòng đầy
quái vật
đang xem trận chung kết
cú sút của ông
làm nổ tung cả màn hình plasma
tinh thể lỏng


29
bạn sẽ hít lấy hơi thở của nàng
khi nàng hét lên

nàng để lại vết lưỡi trên làn da của bạn
bạn tin rằng bạn có thể
chứa đựng
chế ngự
làm dịu
nàng

mỗi khi nàng tấn công
bạn
lãng mạn từ cửa sau
như
một băng đạn


30
tháng Chín
ánh nắng mặt trời
biển mưa
áo mưa mặc
một mạng nhện…


31
mặt trăng
rơi vào ao
lóng lánh trang sức ngày xưa
nàng hay đeo đi học

con cá chép há miệng đớp
mặt trăng
và đôi mắt của đám mây

mặt nước nở hoa
khi ai ném vào
mấy ông sao sáng

trong nếp gấp hơi nhăn mặt của ông trời
mọi thứ đang trơ nên tối thêm
một tí, chúng biến mất với những con dơi
treo ngược trên rèm lá

sau cùng, làm chậm, nở hoa
nàng
cơ thể nàng
trở thành mặt trăng và con cá chép
cho cái ao


32
ngọn tháp bao la của bụi xa xôi
khó khăn hơn so với bầu trời
bị hút hết chân không
còn bụi

từ đỉnh núi cao như cái sừng
bị cắm trong những tình huống khó xử
dường như
nàng trôi trong bóng tối

đẩy và xoáy
bởi gió và mặt trời
bạn bị sốc bởi tất cả các con sóng
có thể, hình dạng của chúng chỉ được xác định
khi cái sừng uốn cong
trên đầu và trong trái tim của bạn

nó ẩn
giấu một mơ hồ
nơi con sóng và những ngôi sao bắt đầu
uốn lượn
giao thoa
với nhau
và
ngủ


33
chúng ta thà trốn
trong bóng tối của phòng tắm hơi
như đêm qua bạn nói: i love you
và chúng ta quan hệ đối tác chiến lược

không như bây giờ
nằm đây
cả ngày Chủ nhật tẻ nhạt
bạn chỉ nói: im đi, con chim, mày đừng hót nữa
hoặc: anh đói không? chúc anh ngủ ngon

ôi chao những lời sáo rỗng
làm chúng ta đói
rã họng


34
lá
sinh ra trong ánh sáng đầu tiên
của mùa xuân

nó đổi màu
vào những ngày ấm áp
trong mùa hè
xanh xanh

rực rỡ
những khoảnh khắc
mùa thu

nó cố gượng lại
như một ràng buộc
trong bóng tối
lạnh
đầy lo lắng
mùa đông


35
đôi khi
bạn cần một cái gì đó
để viết
và một cái gì đó
để nói
cũng không có gì sâu sắc
một niềm vui nhẹ nhàng

như màu vàng
nắng hôm nay hơi nhạt

như nàng
mới sáng đã nhắn tin…


36
lụa
và màn sương màu nâu
xoáy vào nhau
tạo thành lớp kem
màu vàng nhung
mềm mại
và mịn
cùng với
nàng
như một tinh thể
sáng chói
trên một sàn diễn
không chỉ thời trang
mà ngập
trong sự cám dỗ

tội lỗi, tội lỗi
có tội lội qua sông
hết tội


37
những con quỷ phía dưới cầu vượt
trên đường về lại ngôi làng
tiếng la hét của những con chồn
như tiếng rít của lốp xe thắng gấp

nó gặm nhấm
sự háo danh của đám muỗi, bước chân
của nó có màu xanh lá cây, cỏ dại
nảy mầm qua các trụ cầu bê-tông
nơi mọi người vẫn đến đái và
xả rác

nó cảnh báo mọi người
bằng tiếng chuông đồng hồ gõ suốt đêm
bíng boong
tiếng kêu của một con chồn
cứ nằm kề bên chiếc gối màu nâu của mọi
người, sau cuộc chơi rã rượi

sáng ra mưa
rơi vào đầu tôi
những viên đá
trò chơi vỡ đầu

ngôi làng
nơi lông đuôi chồn mọc dài ra
như nòng nọc

nó gieo tinh trùng
ra bốn phương trời
tơi bời
rất nhiều trò huyền thoại sáng tạo

như những trò bay cao
mà nó vẫn bịa ra
và nhát ma
con nít


38
chàng vẽ
nỗi buồn
bằng phấn màu lúc 3 giờ sáng

đàn ông
nước mắt
chàng rơi
dòng sông
tưởng cạn
đã lâu
lắm rồi

1.
the poem falling
on the cold surface of lake Lak

in the middle of the night
in deep darkness is the lake
farmers singing in the field
scattered light far away at the top of the hill
she’s dreaming of a wonderful banquet

singing not in a karaoke bar
there’s death in the clouds
there’s fear in the night
sirens and passing traffic
dropping off cases of Larue

dead people under their shrouds
continues to celebrate
their sins forgotten

the dead continues to passionately pray in the forest
they’re dancing around a fire where the MC is holding a white candle
he invites everyone to drink

the poem continues to shift the grounds of the forest
sickly children playing the game Chơi U
they’re breathlessly wrapped around each other’s arms after all the running
the cause of the small lump in her throat and and of those in their graves
those who had just passed away

.

gosh the tearful abandoned land
the forest sighing
maddening night winds through the branches
hell and its hair down flying free from the branches

within the mires are the rising cries
grey skies snubbing out burning lights
exhausting drowsiness

the traveller’s eyes sees
the agony
burning throbbing flames
peaking oblivion

2.
the poem
on the cold watery surface of lake Lak (2)

the gate of dreams is guarded by the gods
so you must live on
not sure for how many more lifetimes
struggling, singing, crying, screaming, fighting for your life
before dawn they bludgeon you to the point of madness
out of fear

you’re spinning like the earth
in a single spin and it’s light
in a single flame is the sky
you are the call of the copper gong
those you invited to drink with you last night
even though you’ve forgotten, they remembered
they turned up

you are a dream like the night is yawning
struggling through terror alone, unbeknownst to all
you are a shining halo
you are ageless

I have drifted along with you at the end of the horizon
flickering thunderous threatening grey clouds
echoing cries
ghosts rising from the blue waters of Tarlac

you are swift like a deer trying to escape a tiger
through the untouched forest
now scattered and thin like mother’s grey hair
the grass is a portrait of your identification
the hunt is rampant, the rampant fear
not a single wandering soul is left in the forest
like fate, you ran away from the dry branches

stumbling over the mountains
you are lost in the caves
you’re the shrubs of the highlands
drinking from the springs
through the mires
like grass

and the mires are now in your hot burning eyes
you’re cursed
you can now see what mother no longer wants to see

on top of the imperial hill of the emperor long ago
now run down and abandoned with no one sweeping its hallways
steps covered with springtime
the youth of the empress Mộng Điệp

you step over a dais lost of its gods
the forest has been emptied of ghost and demons
abandoned graves void of wine and spirit
where the moon rises from the valley
where the moonlight is a blanket over the lake
the unbearable mysterious beauty of it all
overwhelms you as you sat there
and remember

at the front door of the longhouse you’re startled
like the dry and curled up grass in field
on the ladder is a dead tortoise
and a breathless turtle at one pillar of the house
the curse of the land
fossilised into Bazan red dust
archaeological remains

you have cried at the graves
watched the souls leaving you
like in history, the passing of the ages
forgotten emperors

you’re flying over the vats of wine full of fear
Yang’s wrath
where the undefined jokes are scattered like dust over the sad smoked stained stoves
where the curse of the land is cremated my the sun
but refused to be desolate
old age is unpredictable
the emperor will eventually die
but you don’t know how to be tired
and that is your mistake

even after all the Pơtao Apui – Pơtao Êa have sat on the golden jewelled encrusted dias
sword dance and rainmakers
forming the wind with wave of their shields
but no one could account for all the harvests
old age is like the fruits ripening on the branches
the fall of history is inevitable
gosh, the laden sins of the spirit
and the destruction is great

the Creature’s pity couldn’t possibly be the consolation prize
your rest cannot be found in the graves of your forefathers
time is flapping its wings
the dark is devastating inside mother’s gùi

you’re flying over the fields on your way to the Garden of Eden
but the ghosts are the ones holding the keys to the gate of heaven
residing in the crescent moon are the gods
like the mark of a ranger’s axe

you belong to the night night belonging to mother
mother living the multiplication of our life
fighting, striving, oh the cries
make her songs the offerings to the sky
to cook to squeeze out the bitter juices of eggplants
salty still after rinsing
riding the the elephants
stand at the gate of the palaces of kings
screaming out of terror


3.
the poem falling over lake Lak

gold shimmering opulence
swamps full of light
Mnong O, so like a dream?

so dreamy Yersin had mistaken it for a mirage
suspending soundly the night
where resides the homes steep in flood and deluge
pots of terracotta turning into the dawn of adventures

where the anger of Krông-nô is poured into the opening of Krông-ana
the fog weepy for the tranquillity of the land beneath the flood

swamps
in the maddening moments
meaningless truths
where passersby took ivory down to Phan Rang to exchange for salt
1 pair of husks for 1 gùi full of salt
as salty as the winter

desperate crazy dreams radiating light
across the horizon blinding humanity
the unexplained daggers
Yersin not once but twice injured
twice sitting there drinking
like any other dream, the overwhelming memories so
dreamy O people of Mnong

O people of Mnong do you at all dream?
not of the opulent palaces
there in dreamy Dalat
where the grassy eaves touches the ground couldn’t be bothered about anything
as long as there is the rise of fairness
over the top of her alluring home and grassy terraces in the field
where the swamps are as fragrant as the smell of her skin
where the leaves high up in the sky once upon a time wandered
beneath the low grass eaves
where they make rice
embroidered weaved baskets and gùi
daydreaming all day composing poetry as you open your eyes
where Ot-Nrông is passed on from one generation to the next
where an epic tale has the power to make evil
submit
or at least deters them

where there are men with long beards
commands out of control young men
broken people, those with hairy faces
with their heads buried in their mother’s chest

where there is history of invasion
when the xà-gạc was stained with blood

oh the people in those shimmering swamps
I had barely a chance to catch a glimpse of any god
but in my imagination
the carved figures guarding the tombs are on their knees like the elephants
clear in my mind is the fear and respect
restless is the eternal sleep of passing kings
arrows
hunted not only people and wild beast

tonight the MC will light a fire
I will fan the weak glowing amber coal
though brilliant in my mind
and I will sit there and remember
the hundred and hundreds of years legend residing
in the nights full of tears

O my people
come to me clandestinely like a December fog in night
I will hide you
surround you with fear

we will bang each other silly like sadists
plagiarism has no place in such a time
making money and doing charity is the only thing on our mind

a country sick of hearing about charity
charitable people
complaining about the lies and deceit
watch doctors feed their patients out of their own money
thirty thousand dong
to straight after pocket envelopes with three million dong
the evil inside love
witches and angels
O sacred home O epic tale
bearing the dawn of summer amidst a cold winter
everyone had to leave the house
useless flames stirring under the timber floor
where poisonous mushrooms are thriving and rocks bloom
where the maddening truth had swallow you whole like a flame

where there’s a bridge over a dried up riverbed
exposed like the chasm of a tomb
the chaos brought on by the damp
the gods exposed to the sunlight
distant and praying
choking are the bamboo straws in a vat of wine
even the moonlight
and those they claimed to have liberate you into the dark

watchful eyes
as we are singing about the future
with the curses of highrising homes
bats flying closer and closer to the ground
as the crowd retreat
including those who thought they are artists
the poems as fluffy as clouds
buckling beneath the moon
dormant like a volcano
caves cutting into her
more vast than the sound of the wind

replying to the wind are the thin half fed elephants
moving as slowly as mother ageing in time


4.
a poem falling on lake Lak
(or an epic poem about the Mnong)

.
we all know
the forest have wings in the night
golden steps
up the eaves as high as steeples

we all know
trees falls
only by the incantation of the sharman on his knees
guiding the trees home
causing the sleeplessness of all ten Mnong hamlets

hamlet not village
making even the moon sad
trying to touch such intangible emptiness
you had accidentally allowed the rain to touch those tantalising fingers
during our separation

hamlet not village
don’t be sad
the day betrayal is on the tip of our tongue
asking yourself when you’ll have to climb the wall to escape
leave my lips behind in the thick clouds

tonight the rain are not just clouds, they are a pair of eyes
looking for a way to climb the wall to escape
please lock me up because the length of my pants is only up to my knees
revealing too much flesh
please lock me up because I am forcing the moon to
acknowledge the existence of the two of us
they should lock lock you up my love because you betrayed the love of a boy
who only yesterday had looked at you and smiled dearest
please lock me up because I’m trapped
inside your body my love

lock you up because you are guilty dearest
a poor country supporting too many poet
dreamers throwing their weight around
entitlement blaming anyone else
except themselves

Where did these strangers come from?
lecturing us on their high horse
looking down at us through their rosy glasses
but be careful of what’s in the fog, be careful of what’s hidden in shadows at night
no one wants to ignore the cries
though dare they call out the name of the monster
sucking dry the blood of the people

it’s time the country lockdown the poet
so he can stay locked up inside his red room
so all the nurses in their white uniform may
treat his fog paranoia
night paranoia
he’s frightened of everything
but when will he be paranoid of all the crime
behind all the songs
all the reformed screaming and shouting

we will stab him with a long needle
inject him with expired vaccines
until he has no desire to be reformed
instead of plagiarising he will speak the truth
and look into the smoked burned
eyes of the people

in the dark
know that there’s blood on the floor, blood on the door
know that a young soldier had hung himself
know that there are those who have lost everything
jumping off bridges, knows the pain of hunger
know how to talk, know how to hoot like an owl as lowly
and as deeply

know what price those who had made this hell must pay
the rows of vegetations and innocent rice terraces in ashes
the long rows of people bowing their heads to crawl in a cave
dreamy Mnong volcanic rocks
and volcanoes

the old stories
the people of Mnong uses them in songs
like the epic tale no one bothers to discern
oh Mnong your heart have been pierced by five arrows
shot down by oblivion
six bullets

.
now that you’re dead
what can you say now
What is there left to say or sound when even death is challenged?
did I not buried you
twenty years ago?

like a weak smile
like weed on the side of the road
oh this human body of mine, sleep
on this dust covered bed
cover it with your fear and decay

oh sleep, my friend sleep
you must bear your unbearable struggle
you must accept cunning
when they remove the old clothes on your body
for the last time

.
far far away
we are eunuchs
in an imperial city full of historians
fortune tellers and street performers

we do not have name or station
like what all the elephants have left with are tears
the tears of all the hired help

.
dearest esteemed leader of mine
gosh you are the epitome of greatness
as brilliant as the star across the sky
we’re parading inside the Palais de Justice
the glorious opulent light

hovering above our head the truth is screaming and intact
you have a gift from heaven
so people may know that
God is the Creator of destiny

you were sad that night
and tired, that night
but perhaps because you couldn’t grasp
the reason for your sadness then
as the people of Mnong gar couldn’t understand why the people of Mnong pré
continued to love

sadness can not be drowned out by alcohol
nor could it be discarded through prayers
it’s a caravan of people confined by death
chased by ghost in the desert
haunted by regret

but you have cried out
and have all came
a caravan of people who appeared to be dead
heading towards rebirth
out from the sad and sombre caves

you sang to us
and we were proud
because we were on the side of tears

by consuming the clouds
we drank one cup of brilliant
sunlight

wrapping ourselves in another blanket is how we overcome the chill
we’re not naked in a skirt
we’re decorated with ornaments
bronze arms as hot as our lover

I’ll let you in on a secret
when I take up her mother’s name
begging everyone’s pardon, the matriarchal reigns
the dead are shaking
the dead are sitting up, they are rising
inside my battered heart

from my throat
comes flying out is the fear
emptiness in tired eyes
I’ve turned into a hopeless wanderer
I am hungry and I am ashamed

in the end the warhorse in steel turned up
you abandoned everything and left with your despicable heart
slipping off one side of the sun
and night was dropped
like a crumbling wall

heaven and earth separated by a hug
night piled up at the front door
darkness piled one on top of another comes down crashing
like the tombstones from the top of a mountain

the night ends in clouds
steeped in the colours of flower petals
lost in the dark as the day gives light

the night is lost, the day is also lost
only our memories will take us back
by waiting for the night to die
the sun dawns over one’s head each night
light is the cause of all the shadows

so that by noon you can fill everyone’s heart
with fear and sadness
people see more than they should

God will bless you with a flame at noon
the sun in the evening, breakfast in the morning
your light turning into homes and humanity
into bitterness
into grey rock boulders
and the colour grey is born
like the tiredness quietly slipping into the veins of the sun

now it’s a look that could
make the sun get lost in the hills
now, black
making life wait for a brilliant moment
now darkness
making peaceful moments
now separation
don’t ask me why they shatter
and break with their sound echoing as they fall
into silence

one night perhaps in the future remember
you had barely escaped from Death’s scythe
and carved into the wall of darkness
the imagery with two shadows
a mixture of colours on a crumbling pillow

you’re admiring this imagery
consuming it in lonely nights
you’re a little bird
your birdsong is as chilly as winter
your laughter as hot as a log fire
you drink and burp, as though
you’re human
safeguarding faith inside destiny
stirring tales of the soul
painful deaths
you’re the cause of their tears and lowered heads

you erect the palaces
shimmering gold staircase
in one night with the mystery of life and death
you tell me you will die alone
like a forgotten concubine

winter alone as though you are winter
winter telling me that it will die alone
night like one night in any night
night telling me it will persist in a world
stripped bare and shivering with the cold

my heart fading with the dying foliage
falling with the rain
cold night after night
warm by the summer heat
to the point of an awakening thought

that I will never die
I will be nobody
I will not be missed
like those who are gone
please let them rest in peace

but I’m shaking through all the verses
the scar, a burden for so many years
I am steeped in blood
writing poetry is the destruction of my life

when I call, and there is no answer
I will know then all is lost
the sun has set
bled along with all the shredded light

in a dark corner
imagine a man frantic and going mad
not knowing if he should place her down on the grass
dig into her and sucking, licking her breast
until she no longer has any strength left

Mnong you are the air, you are the spirit
you are the Atman of the cosmos
to the very end of Brahman

the greatness of your people
draping across the length of the earth
smiling, with your right hand on your chest
sings the national anthem in one voice
5.
a poem falling on lake Lak
(or an epic poem about the Mnong)

.

there’s a river. spilling into the swamps. rain. the tip of its tongue licking a cold winter.

there’s a boulder on the verandah that looks like an old fallen elephant. the tip of it broke into pieces, forming thousands and thousands of cracks and painful fractures.

there’s a forest like a small hamlet imprisoned by winter.

in the forest the elephant wandered around ending up its wandering days in a yard full of sunlight. there, the curling ivory husks looked like severed arms reaching for the sky, trying to embrace still a land of mystery and wonder.

and for a long time in a shredded dream, an elephant calf was born. it died because its mother had the permission to be a mother.

when an elephant dies, the sun must set, the clouds cry, you as the people of Mnong must remain silent, mother elephant losing its footing. stumbling it would end up by a rapid. it waits for a Hero to appear to rescue the elephant calf.

while the Hero watches the elephant disappear amongst the ancient trees, he’s waiting for the elephant to appear on the other side of the river from where he stood. Hoàng Cầm once out of despair lost a hand in the muddy water at lake Lak. Yersin was injured twice here on his way to Ama-Jhao for a drink.

the river running against the gods of the electrical dam just for fun, it’s dancing on a giant boulder forming a waterfall in the rapids. it slithers rapidly like a snake. the Hero tries to stand his ground but falls as he wades through the river. the water is so cold that he loses all his senses. the Hero swallows a gulp of water before he continues to fight the rapid, but all he does is create these broken pieces of the world.

he’s shouting: save the elephant. when dusk turns into night, the elephant’s shadow looming against the sky, blanketing its siblings, the human race. unlike the sacred Indian cow or the cat in Egypt, the people of Mnong do not worship elephants like gods; they consider them as part of the family. in a family, fathers’ calls his elephant his “son” , mothers’ calls her elephant “daughter”, and mothers’ children and elephants are siblings.

the river when it escapes the concrete electrical dam, the imprisoned fear disappears, it dives with all its might into a dream about the sea. the Hero is slightly afraid, because vast is the sea that did once swallow the sun whole, the goddess that Pơ-tao long ago loved and recklessly gave up his life for her, dropping and losing even his magic dagger. the Hero tries to swim against the current, and catches the sight of the soul of a man about to die drifting out towards the sea. but unlike the Hero the spirit of the dead man is heading towards the sun.

the Hero knew nothing about the millions and millions of people who died at sea and they are now free throughout the nine levels of the sky.

before sinking, the Hero was taken aback by the sight of the looming elephant taking up the entire sky, its voice booming and its eyes on fire. trying for the last time to sing a song about the incredible strength of elephants, defending the village and hamlets in all their victories. elephants that had made history bled in the battles they had spearheaded, and history had made the heroes return to the fields after the battle, rarely do they stay back and hide in the stinky palaces and royal courts.

both the Hero and elephant are being chased out of the forest of their home, stumbling through a dream, the dreamy dreams of the Mnong, a place where they have lived with elephants for more than a thousand years.

The Mnong people take care of their elephants the way they take care of their lovers. lowering her husks, she waits for him, her carer to throw a scoop of water at her, so she can wash her feet. her trunk swaying in the river. moving in a way that makes sures that both elephant and man may watch out for each other. a thousand years connection that has been there long before the strangers turned up. resounding are the sounds of the cymbals and gongs, when father prays for the health of the elephants. a song about how the people of the Mnong bow to the sun and at night the Mnong bow to the moon:

– the clouds are bowing, no one is running or hiding.

you’re a child, what can you see? a Chinese motorcycle flipped over on bunches of vegetables as old as Mother. but all the clouds could do is curl up staring at the ground, because it’s the air, it’s the sign of the times. history had abandoned and forgotten about the elephants beyond the victories.

there’s a forest between two hamlets
in this village, a revolution already in the past
what’s old has turned into darkness, nearly a row of homes
was abandoned.

you’re there to pick up the fear
the way people pick mushrooms
but you have been tricked

this is not a poem
you are just simply heading closer towards the truth
and the horror of it
causes you to disappear

you will not tell everyone
where it is
the darkness of the forest
where light cannot leave a mark
interactions full of ghosts, paradise full of leaves
and you’re attentive
you’re listening

because it’s a poem
about trees
like the trees they harvest wood from still
the source of musical instruments
you’re playing each note
each pain each individual loneliness

and you’re discarded
like a hymn after mass
without the need of the ranger’s axe…



6.
the poem on the cold glassy surface of lake Lak
(or an epic poem about the people of Mnong)

.

when you love oh Mnong you do not eat anything spicy and hot
because the wedding itself is bitter
you ran away because you’re forced to be a bride
but in the end you are always in each other arms
even as a widow you belong to each other

Mnong
the volcano turning you into ashes
taking your last breath in an epic tale
right or wrong, not two
but you will always choose one

some thought you had no other choice
it’s rather selfish. even though you’re always fair. you’re in the middle a hearing
for that very reason.

a king is not necessary because you have your own laws
where does the text stop. you’re binding the incantations together, call them ót-nrông
as though you are half between dreams and wakefulness

Are we not like verses in an epic poem?

mother, it was not my fault
you’re tired. you tried your best to continued
you remember everything, while “everything” is on fire. the soul anchor you onto everything that has turned into ashes, and you’re not afraid
when high heaven raises the bar of sadness
the entire hamlet is running and reminiscing on the past
as though history has more than one god
now all you have to do is to kneel down and worship the one God each new dawn

you feel as though the world has been turned upside down
your tears fall. you leave the people with despair and regret
your love is precarious, hurtful and dangerous
who will be happy once the sun has set?
you’re playing around with the words ignoring grammar
will you fail then in telling the epic poem?

red. black. white fire
your blue tunic
once upon a time was black and red
dragged through the mud to collect ox horns
drenched in the drizzle mucking around crying
caught eels found the fishes
dragged the tomb idols with a heavy heart
ran in one breath from Lak to Buôn Đôn
nine levels of knives cutting into your soul
met the Laotian met the Hmong
loved the Funan smelt flowers gathered honey
blown out the candles as you together as one

in the dark your soul is not lost
you’re racing in a vehicle of light through the clouds
your feet on the ground through the sand and soil, the moon
chasing after the memories of when you ran away
clouds drawn towards the light want to embrace the sun. you left your heart on the verandah of the longhouse, hoping, one day, your old lover will come back to say goodbye. in silence. it seemed I have mistakenly placed it in the palm of your hand full of moonlight. accept the gift from a woman you refuse to love

sure you’re stuck like the yearning in one’s mind
sure you would hang around like a stain on a shirt
you figured you had once overcame it
but until now could not escape it

you spit out the sanctified holiness. the cool breeze on your skin. the sound of the wind through the canopy.
you hoped would save this world without the need for spells and incantations

celebrated in the Tăm Blang M’prang festivals
partied said goodbyes cried
erected cây nêu to welcome the good spirits (tall bamboo sticks decorated with lanterns)
clarity and brilliance are welcomed to stay

but dear Yàng
no one is accusing you of anything. to you life and death now has no meaning. it could take away your soul because you’re human. light. darkness. balance. gave you a living. faith is reserved for you, more significant than any kind of pain

please, forgive me
you have to step into a circle of fire
so the MC could serve you a drink
the pompousness of ceremony
while the elephants are chopping on watermelons

so your prayer may save this world
please look at the leaf, it will soon have to leave. Death will eventually come for all of us. and the pain will be excruciatingly beautiful, vigorous, and frightful
ashes to ashes to nothing as the leaves goes wandering

I will love you until there’s no one left next to you
I’m sorry…

I don’t have enough money for a wedding, mother needs us to celebrate first Kep-môi then Dạm but I only have enough money for one copper bangle for your wrist
wait for the matchmaker to pull you down
as I flip the blanket over to the sound of clapping and cheering

the adulterers have been burned to ashes
we will never get a divorce
we still have our children
may we burn into ashes together with the sharman’s paper altar

7.
on the cold glassy surface of lake Lak
(or an epic poem about the people of Mnong)

.

each drop of water was once a god
a leaf represents a god
humanity stands for dreams
like her heart is a symbol of love

before there were philosophers
symbolistic of how at the very least you have turned into a religion
chasing all the ghosts away

symbolistic of how at the very least you have formed a nation
to then merge into nationalism

your symbolism
the king is no different to a farmer
same tradition same language
the king is no different to a farmer
play the same role with the same responsibility
the role for “all”

like the symbolism for “all” asking themselves
why we are like a cage
and a cage means being stuck
you’re inside the door of the longhouse

the door representing a face
like the moon, the moon is the face of humanity
a human face for each love affair
symbolism is a love affair
like a hunter in the middle of hunting

she is the hunter
and you ask yourself why a fox, like tiger understands the fact
that they are the same as a rabbit? you fall into their trap
because she represents a rabbit

a rabbit is not a symbol of peace
not because it’s smart
it’s innocence can not avoid the bloodshed
we’re a caterpillar
she’s a symbol of a caterpillar curled up inside life

If life is a prison, then what would a prison symbolise?
it’s used to store everything
inside it and left to starve to death and die
without a voice
it keeps everyone out of reach
all we can do is visit

how may the representation of religion destroy
war and a kind of love that nurtures hate
Why are we blind like a bat and deaf like a fish?

land and country is one
home and family is one
we should draw a nation
as one in tears out of national pride

let’s draw from the symbolism
a shattered mirror as broken to then be whole again
representing the faces in green hues of youth
only the eyes are dark and deep

you look at the broken pieces of those
who were once human
once human until the day they die
death is not the end
karma turning one into an ant an insect
Where’s there left to hide?

like the way you ran away from reincarnation
in a dash, the struggle at the end is death
inside symbolism death just means the end
no more mixing the colour of new green leaves with red

but a nation has many colours
and a nation also has many nationality
each person is a broken piece
broken pieces forming a government
the water in the water bay you used to bathe the elephants

the elephant trunk rolls up like sadness
you are the comfort in each small moment
an elephant has no scar
just salty water in its eyes
raining

now we begin
to look for people that will never go missing
they only say goodbye
the way the sun disappears in the rain

8.
on the cold glassy surface of lake Lak
(or an epic poem about the people of Mnong)

.
Ót N’rông
the Mnong people are all the rivers encompassing
as sad as deer horn fortified liquor in one’s blood

you’re sombre, you’re the arts, tweeting bird songs, beyond meaning
I’m looking for you in the dark of night
because of the burdening cravings of the flesh
I am blind

blind but my eyes are wide opened
eyes turning darker and darker into blackness
that feeling just before passing out
eyes catching a glimpse of a rainbow
discerning your present hues of glory
& beauty

your hues within the epic tale pour into a river
you’re the creator and founder of the land
you’re a hero
you’re a god you’re a thing of beauty

.
time’s sole aim is to colour your life
but you dismiss it
you allow it to fade away
or like sunlight it’s ever present
after the rain?

is it waiting for you
singing and moving alluringly
singing and making offerings to the gods
singing half laughing and crying

you embody an epic tale
and the past of your people
the people of Mnong turning into a dream
unhindered by earthly matters

Please tell me your colour?
I need more colours like a smile
mix it with the spring water
you used to make liquor last night

.
I am in your hand
the tip of a nib you’re cleansing in an inkpot

the pot smiling on the outside
screaming inside
and that is when you want to add other colours

say cool hues with the abundance of leaves
your rest after the festivity of the harvest
your communicable darkness in the dying light
you’re the stuff of history and folklore and this made her more curious
about the name of the mountain and those rivers

she knows these heartbeats
they are the startled notes through the bamboo grove
thumping in harmony with the graceful movements of an elephant
stamping the grounds of the burrows in the fields with their bulky feet
helping mother load the gùi the colour of her skin onto her back

the sky falling upon you with a promise
the sunset falling like tears
red running down your cheeks
a sinking deep colour

your world is often colourless
stuck inside a heartbeat
bloodless and thumping

.
you walk over the rainbow and the rain
joy and sadness
hold on to her or let her go?
to the very least
you adore all seven colours
in white in all the unrequited love

.
bitterness
it is a shade of disappointment
like what, do what
something is coming to a close
even when it didn’t have a chance to open up
the mixing of colours is the symbolism of blood

.
the power of purchase
when I am a poem
by a poet who has a limited choice of colours
something you could sell

like a gùi full of golden harvest
poetry is in black and white
the doors are closed
left me in pitch black darkness
a shade of secrecy

I had wished once that you were the cool shades of stars
because it had never occurred to me that we would roll
so far like that

so the past may pass by
the present also moves on
after all the heartache
not once did you ask
not once did you come to any hasty conclusion that
poetry is also a shade of Ót N’rông

you’re worried poets will not
write with a nib
poets will not
know your pain

no
perfection is unnecessary but you need it to be honest
drama is unnecessary but you need it to be expressive
fame is unnecessary but you need to scream
one’s name is not something you envy
one could be so hasty in dishing out one’s pity
mistaking you to be rather naive
admiration is unnecessary because you are pure
not powerless though you’re brave
whatever passes your heart
in the end will not be me
but it will be the pain
in the shade of innocence

like me, a poem is something I do
I feel the love buried in my chest
I destroy it by tearing
it apart

my love, you are weak like that
you love too easily
only once were you teased
lucky that my love, you’re the one
the epic tale of the Mnong is the last piece of literature
for the Mnong people

my love, you’re so oblivious to everything around you
but you will tremble when discover that the poem about the Mnong people is so good
and everything
makes it harder for you my love to ever love again

there’s never a need for the Mnong to ever sulk
when you my love admits and accepts
that my heart is pounding as though I’m running up towards the top of a mountain
and the king’s imperial robe is still hanging up there
when Mộng Điệp brought the imperial seal and sword back to the imperial city
then together with you cut open the ox

everything has their own meaning
the world can not exclude pain
because pain is necessary for the acceptance of love

but you as a people have never loved poets
because their words are words of lies
they have no idea that an epic tale that has once been archaic is now ancient history
all they ever want is the refinement of fame

they don’t understand the fact that an epic tale has once been folklore by design
all they are after is a heroic epic tale
they’re all about fighting as one for the love of the nation
even when you have stated “we’re the consumer of the forest” and we’re the creator of the world
in the great flood the demons
chewed and swallowed you before they spit you out
you are still “Đam Brơi”
you are still “Chàng Trăng” like Damsan wanting the Sun to be his wife
you are the narrator of even the dreams of those who came
out of nowhere
forever burning down institutions
forever a joke as the great narrator



9.
on the cold glassy surface of lake Lak
(or an epic poem about the people of Mnong)

.

wood
chopped down, leaving behind an insipid blacken path
where the forest felt safe and hidden in the night
so many eternities

they have turned up widening even the horizon
with homes clad in rosewood and marble
they have all these ideas
like clouds are not white
meres and swamp marvelling at the magic of arches and domes
popping out of the ground like the crowns of newly appointed kings

alcohol and riots are tainted with fleshy red
you could hear a voice
you see the smiles
magic looking up at the hills
your eyes sheds the tears

and just like that you’re adrift
until the night is purple
you’re drunk singing in a carefree ode of your own
the verses for a while now no longer has light
stirring up the ancient promises of the past

it’s possible the forest may stumble and fall
but you must stand your ground
you don’t need a mask
because you have been a metropolis
proud and fierce against each sunrise
proudly hidden from the primaeval forest
like sages

.

my swamp
where Krông Ana is brimming and rising right in the middle
What if I tear apart your heart my love?
far from home far from our children will I be able to withdraw completely from our forefathers
from our lineage?

or should I warm up
veins of the swamp with a song
my swamp, where mother and father
once forged knives and moulded pots out of clay
once dreamed

once drowned an army
where the young men were like fading shadows
fell in folklore
when the slaves turned up to share their freedom

your freedom is not something one can form
from an unfamiliar prayer
only your voice can ignite a swamp
full of ghost and spectres
like mother’s call in the night
blanketing the dewy grass fields
in a sleep that could never again be awaken
that belongs to the people of Mnong

resounding echoes of ancient gongs from the domes
covered in so much of father’s prayers
– you guys must always be respectful of all
worshipping in my name

even though they’re falling apart all around you
you’re still dreaming about
the sound of a stone altar in the shape of an elephant
rising amidst the hinterland

where the sweetest satisfaction is the land
ownership of a farmer
where folklore is as small as a mushroom
dense may it be, it is still a dream

where the valleys in the middle of the night
swamped with birdsongs
where the moon is a golden colour
hypnotising the fairies harvesting in the fields

.

swamps are where my love is reserved for you my love
none of my dreams, but my memory
luckily is filled with images of light
blinding flames hiding all that lineage

wake up Krông-Ana
Krông-Nô had once upon a time despised heritage
you had once ruled the vast swamps
once the lineage of a nation
our souls have merged into one
gosh those poor philosophers
who had once looked down on all the poets

philosophers
who had once denied the language of the heart
merging nature with rules and regulations
suffered the consequences as they looked for the cause
hopeful fanatics seeking hopelessness
night after night

an explosion of legendary sophistry
someone’s tongue skinned like a crested bulbul black-throated laughingthrush
limp and wordless like leaves hanging from the branches

wholly in confidence
the way the tides care not for the allure of dreams
when it comes to sun

the ancient banquet once again makes an appearance
the fire burning brightly inside your home
together with the promises in stone
overwhelming memories
about the centuries long gone
when the trees were taller than the domes
when greatness had created the world
mystical epic tales

where everything was lit up by memories
whispers of bygone days

where your eyes were lowered
as a ghost drifted by
Mnong Nong, Mnong Prêng
floating, adrift like an incantation

10.
on the cold glassy surface of lake Lak
(or an epic poem about the people of Mnong)
.

before the time of the philosophers
symbolism and you were a religion
chasing away the ghost

the people represent the king
speak the same language
together cry out in pain and silent regret
side by side equal role as combatants
a role for “all”
and the artist would colour “all” on the backs of elephants into battle
returning in black and grey

.
black, you’re trying to jump over a hole. one foot in a hole. deep. eyes closed so they can’t work out what we know. followed by the seconds. it’s about to happen. a great sweep. a mystery to those who are sound asleep. excited about those in hiding. share the sadness of those struggling angels. bleed as brothers and sisters.

can you see in the dark? congratulations, if you understand black, black do not understand strangers. often too monstrous

.
grey. you’re abandoned
the day is quiet in a grey shadow. today is no different to yesterday. like any other day. all the same. the afternoon is hidden somewhere as though you’ve gone away

because you know that Ot Ndrong did once stayed silent
created a world with a sky in three colours and love in seven hues
and you have descended from heaven and came from Tiăng hamlet. hence even though you’re an epic tale you still hunt, fight, take her back from your enemy. take her back to the old hamlet, Tiăng hamlet

when “the leech swallowed Tiăng hamlet” you were at war. the battle was worse than the battle of Troy by the late antiquity Greek author Homer. you have no reason to be angry with Achille

you have been a democrat a military advisor have from the swamp step onto a boat. make war. buried the dead made offerings to the gods
ate without worrying about when it will all end or if you might die
because you are Mnong

.
a rabbit will always be white

gosh, what is happening to me? I swear to you I was there. if only I was a bird. flying. but can not tweet. we have a national language. but now I’m nothing but a tree that can not talk. why did this. happened. to me?

oh mother

I have given it much thought. after some time I have turned into a crocodile. swamps are full of crocodiles. but please my love don’t rush don’t run away

I swear to you that my brown skin is more valuable than crocodile skin. please my love, come back. I need someone’s head on my shoulder. perhaps to watch the sunset
perhaps to forget
a name from Mon K’Ho Lạch people
married to Êđê drank Khmer liquor
carried the blood of mother Chau in the tales of Điểu-Kâu

it seems I may have forgotten something. what. I forgot where I’m supposed to be. where am I going? am I from the forest or from the sea? Where have the Chăm people gone to? what are they trying to keep a hold of? for heaven sakes, it seems I’ve forgotten everything

I saw Mother Chau in a Queen butterfly. or was it Monarch? the generations one after the other are growing prettier and prettier. greetings butterfly, what is your name butterfly? my name? oh please, don’t lie. please give me a nickname. like the colour blue on mother’s grave

say my name so I may understand you
if what you say is the truth
thank you, friend. what should I do next?

perhaps it was deliberate that I wanted to forget
or I was running after a path of a white rabbit
one could draw them in the sunlight
the way people sell their paintings
I believe people are selling
my secrets

.
please take me, teach me how to get lost. I will obey, bend my knees. no one seems to see, please stay as far away as possible from these people who were once Poetry and Desolation. there are these upsetting verses since you’ve now mistook it for an oration, like the way a poet only wants to kiss the pad of your feet my love. I can but kiss myself momentarily stuck in hell

please save me, you’re lost in the lost hamlet
now I’m empty
I can not escape
my fate

I want much more but you give me barely nothing at all
Why am I the only one in the entire forest?

.
tears, friends and heaven
please spare me some sunlight, give me a reason to live. I’m sick of these rhymes. I have Ót-Nrông but you have not

okay, fine. I want to escape but it’s too late, I have collapsed. at the moment my soul is dying

what is mine?
was I not free before?

they turned up and took everything
now I’m just a rice husk, completely empty. the rice grain is dead.
the golden terrace fields. why are they too afraid to draw them? or could they be only in grey and black?

death, means there’s nothing to live for anymore. wake me up once I’m in heaven. perhaps then I will still be alive, smiling when I’m having a bath with you, my love. please spit water from your mouth laugh sleep
in a thriving lush green garden
like the wind

the hues of summer passing by
such a place is rather sad

do the Mnong like to dream
what is there to cry about

now it’s winter
purest is the grass and morning dew
the swamp’s first kiss
grass loving
second
grass longing

third the grass thought
it was me my love

the grass is still as green as a girl
wild grass
painful

how far away
the climb fading
dawn is like two lovers making love
coming

oh yes
not quite yet awake


11.
on the cold glassy surface of lake Lak
(or an epic poem about the people of Mnong)

.
the light from darkness is concentrated within your soul
who had overcome the nightmare
who had raised their eyes in despair
the birth of oblivion?

is it useless, all those
dreams, it’s the stuff of your imagination

me, I deny the desire of my soul
cold and hollow
everyone, please stop talking
because there’s no one left to listen and understand
in all that noise you are forgotten
offerings upon the pregnancies, ear-blowing ceremonies, weddings
celebrations of good health, funerals
you have lived a lifetime

you’re wandering searching for a forest from the origin
the goddesses have led you astray
a sacred forest no one dares to enter
an ancient forest no one dares to guess its age
because it is the cemetery of the gods

it’s the home of sacred spirits
the god of good and the god of evil
vats buried by you right by the graves
upon your return to be with the sacred spirits

.
no the vats of liquor needs you like the escaping beer foam overflowing over the brim of the glass
as though it’s the joy of battle
the painful slogans
screaming

they, why are they following me?
they fill up all the crevices and space
their eyes on all the graves
lighting incense

ah, a grave on the far corner is waiting for you
there’s no memory sustainable forever
though in the garden of Eden you’re dreaming
about everlasting life
you must bear the judgement
just and fair

because you’re merely an autographed gift
left behind in everyone’s pocket
because you decided it was your right to multiply everything by two
abundant like those viruses

.
ah, sombre is the night
a rifling storm looming in the sky
lions locked up in isolation
turning into a throng of monsters

no one dares to skip the moments
but you are never afraid
you go through the forest to get to lake Lak
look for those who had cut down the trees

.
blue pale stars, you disregarding the sign
from up high
the peak of the eternal

now searching for a message from within your symbiosis
please teach me so I may find the best time to impregnate

this screen of the future
gosh the clouds are a waste of time and money
from sickly soul
your sons can fly
to the peak of freedom?

the isolation area is as dense as the jungle
it’s too bright, too bright
where the moonlight is brilliant within my heart
because or the tranquillity in the forest tonight

I’m shaking so much
over each flower, each leaf
rolling up all the young women
the young men sticking together like a row of beads
and dewdrops

it’s too bright, it’s blinding
right by a swampy river
the reflecting stars
sinking soundly drowning deeply

they wash the elephant
before they allowed me a bath
as though they think that when you’re not sad
you’re not dirty

perhaps because your eyes have covered up the sadness
the suffocating mountains is not something they understand
suffocating clouds
I can’t breathe
I’m waiting for the autumn storm to finally burst
since the night winds have arrived
sounds like a rooster: cocka doodle doo

until my soul falls
like a deer facing fear
startled and confused even though the tiger tried to calm it down
the rage of the night
with you on a long flight
suddenly you decided to increase the speed
cocka doodle doo

don’t skip a single note
in a passing storm

like a funeral shroud
the angels shall descend from up high
oh when when
I can just see your crown
popping up right there at the foot of the bamboo pole, cây nêu?

now you’re covering up all the deep dark pits
black, like a poem without a purpose
the rifling storms
even spring onions had a price rise during isolation
doubling my debt
doubling the suspicion
doubling the fear
as it turned out, you’re turning me into a virus

her breasts also doubled
her thighs doubled
an image describing how it was impossible to eliminate you

without peace
life is much like it is inside a tomb
without eternal peace
cocka doodle doo
I want to be an alluring soul
be a danger to other souls
me, someone who have been hypnotised by the soul of the mountain
land and country
even though I’m battered to the bone
nothing but hanging flesh

.
ah, but the autumn
the poetry now across the airwaves
cooka doodle doo

where resounding is their rhymes
how sombre and heart breaking is oh oh the fall

the last time in wandering yellowing leaves
you find an incredible place of destruction
it’s words of farewell
oh but why must I lose the leaves, where are you hiding now?
even when it comes to your own pain
you’re lying

the vernacular gently whispering
without the leaves the thorns will be the sustenance of memory
we are still here
the scars, the reasons why I love you so much my love
so so much

and everyone will adorn the mourning cloth
when the flowers are solemnly draped over the graves in Mliêng hamlet
you are the ancient trees you are sacred
you are the old forest you don’t need anyone to guess your age
you are the origin
you are the author of our heritage

you have moved the pair of elephant boulders
father and mother of Yang-Tao
like a wish
adorn the rocks mend the horizon
the maker of history

*******