OR WHAT ABOUT THE LAST SEASON FLOWER*
(author: People's Artist HOANG CUC)
Every morning, the flower withers another petal,
silently letting out short drops and long drops
, scratching with ten wise fingers,
what charms can attract and treat the ecstasy?
The way I went, I bent my way back
But the stop was the bitter rain. The
alley was deeply flooded, the rows of houses were close together.
Sitting on the bed was like a wooden raft floating on the river.
The children's eyes became empty,
the utensils became empty,
and the books pretended to be asleep.
Flower petals rustled under the table legs...
Every morning, the flowers fade and add more petals.
They grow thin and don't let them fall.
They hold on to the color of the evaporating sunlight.
Entering the scent of the wind
. They cling to their fingers and shyly remove it.
One morning, the flowers fell very quickly,
trying to rise dreamily... the aggregate of thoughts.
The whispering wind tremblingly supported the waterfall
falling on the loose shoulders, leaving a distinct
fragrance . Hard to fade.
7.2024
* Great poet Nguyen Du.
HOME TO MEMORY
(author: LAN LE)
The young sunlight gently spreads over the dike
. While sleepy, the sound of cicadas hesitates.
The phoenix is still the color of fire and
tears. Red on the small paths that no one has ever walked through.
Overwhelmed with the scent of grass and flowers,
Carved into a vast and beautiful memory.
At the end of the day, the sun shines happily.
Hooc calls his friend Da Da to be busy.
He leans over and spreads the palm tree.
Covering you, change your chiffon shirt for the season.
Loud thunder calls for rain
Washing the temple* clean, waiting for next year's season Bruised
old conical hats Robes
and wooden clogs are deeply imprinted in life
Summer is filled with nostalgia
, overwhelmed with memories of the sun and rain,
quietly sitting and counting the drops,
looking back at the sweet memories of summer.
7.2024
* The rain right after the Hung Temple festival
is called "temple washing rain".
FOREST RAIN
(author: VO SA HA)
Honey, honey, don't be in a hurry.
Sometimes we encounter rain in the forest
. Here, the rain doesn't have dust.
There's no human smell or garbage
Just let the rain wet your clothes
. We'll take them all off.
We'll run around on the grass.
Let the rain wash our skin
I see the leaves of the forest dancing,
the tree canopy bursting with cheers,
the old mountains loudly singing, and
the sad rocks are radiant!
Please hold my hand so I don't fall
. When the rain stops, I'll go home.
In the rain, I become a child.
I wish I could never come out!!!
7.2024
THIEN LIANG
(author: VAN CONG HUNG)
The salt is so white it's scary as the
moon crosses the salt field
mysterious half-season night, flickering
waves lull the night
The song has a loose,
sagging shape
A lonely island in the middle of the water,
days longing for rain
Salty like sweat,
your voice is so tilted
Thieng Lieng caresses the wind and
sunshine in each other's eyes...
7.2024
PEOPLE OF THE MOUNTAIN
(author: LOC Bich KIEM)
The Tay boy became an intellectual.
From the mountain path, step by step,
he came to the vast path of science
The boy Tay Van Quan
is rich and has children.
He has more books than money
He traveled everywhere
With his feet on the ground
He wrote down everything
From the true life of his ancestors
A Tay farmer's boy,
when he returned to his mother's hometown,
a voice rang out in his heart.
In his soul, a stone image appeared
Then he left in a hurry
As if in the green high world
Jade Emperor, Mo, Then, Nang Hai, Slan, Put
Wanting to be friends with good people
This afternoon in his hometown
He washed his face with spring water
Great sacred water flows from ravine
The source water that bathed him to become the scientist he is today.
7.2024
VISIT YOUR HOUSE
(author: TRAN TAM)
The house is floating with smog.
It has a pine roof.
The stream is rushing - the dog is barking. The
gecko's chirping sounds are coming from time to time.
Old friends - I'm not young anymore
Irritatingly talking about country and home
The children are alive and the others are dead
The joy and sadness of March's fog
The wine is poured out to dampen the moisture.
How much we love each other.
If we know how to sneak around, we will be quite
promiscuous. We will welcome each other
What has to happen has come to pass.
What has passed must pass.
Lamenting for what is still lost
only leaves each other's hearts in tatters
The fog and smoke dissipate and then gather
again. We are sitting among ourselves.
The rush is like the sound of a stream of water
. It always falls on your shoulders
You sent me home silently,
unable to speak.
Still burning in my wet eyes,
burning throughout the unhappy seasons.
2024
