by Phan Hoang

Carrying things on her shoulder, mother ran
squeakily and hurriedly
people falling behind
people bowing in front

My childhood was in the evacuation basket
mother carried the dreams of running through the chaotic season
baby cried
stronger than
cannon roar

The streets were mottled with black holes
blood red floating rivers and streams
the sea screamed, layers of waves breaking away from mother

Mother’s steps against the southern wind
softly glided over the undulating rocks on the mountainside
detoxified jungles struggling with Agent Orange
comforting the fields with weeds

Bare feet of bamboo roots bloodied
the wind basket lost its breath
mother put her child to sit under the burnt-out bomb hole
looked back at the ruined village and grandparents’ graves

Put the hat down to fan the bomb smell
Mom’s shadow covered the bullets’ range
cuddled a crying mother
babbled mother and daughter laughing
baby smiled
stronger than
cannon roar
a smile planted in the mother’s heart the seed of hope
peaceful village after the next season…

by Tran Tu Ha

Translated by Khanh Phuong

I crossed a strange horizon that breathed time’s fields
Burdens and reaping hooks sing with the seeds
Tired eyes, fragrant straw inhaling the smell
of recalled new rice

Somewhere

The crack of the call for growing up, a married woman’s dream
I turned on the belief wave, thousands of pages
The longing-dream as if a fruitless tree, filled eyes
like an ancient tower waiting for the moon

Then, I drown in a fairytale dream
“Sewing a big bag hoping to pick up gold” …
The dream is green but a tree does not fruit

Why is the flowering season falling in the garden corner?

It’s been a thousand years
In dream
A whisper calls the self-enlightenment spirit

This morning
I step out from the married woman
Take off the dream
Enter the call of love!

by Tran Tu Ha

Darling, please hide it for me
Is that the rain in late summer
A sequel of tears?

In the quiet garden, a spot of light flashed,
countless white butterflies formed the garden of fate.
Somewhere, a faded trembling cry, an eloquent change
of multi-colors in the day
A call of emergency services 15
The 89th minute signaled a pause for all games.

Like a slow-motion video
I wandered on a long sliding road with potholes,
gravel and rocks blocking all paths.
It smeared the ideal picture.
Erosion change, gnawing memory running to time-silver eyes.

Sparkling human forms
The left-over whips remembering the wild childhood
The faces of Adam and Eva turned smoky,
made the lips thicker
It is the pain of not diagnosing the disease
That is the pain of a human life!

I quietly watched – quietly turned away
Is that a sequel of tears, of ghosts or demons?
Or the song of seasonal fairytale?

by Tran Tu Ha

I’ve been on the road longer than I thought

Wind and sand
I was naked on the poor and shallow shoulders
Too lazy for bath and wash

On the windy hill
The wild flowers smirked innocently making purple a memory area
Look at the fruit on high waiting for the release of the milk
Longing for sweet homeland ripe fruit

Smoky day
Sadness like the smoky ground
I saw birds singing in the setting sun
The season was still windy in the eyes of the empty person
The season still sowed thunderstorms unintentionally.

Remember the time

We were thrown into a pocket that smelled of sewers
The guy inside me always raised the flag of war
Ooh!
Was there pain from the bleeding
Can a wound cause infection.

Just knowing
I am the personification of the pain that does not stop the bleeding
As a dry cry in the human world!