by Tran Tu Ha

1. The instrument sound sobbed in drops

She lowered her head beside the guitar in the light of envy
For a long time, she was as a can
Canned thoughts, canned dreams
Who lubricated then offered warranty and cheer to rested things?
An ingenious symbiosis
There! Her eyes welled up tears because she had to see …

2. How can stars be replaced?
How can I hide my true unloved face,
so that every night I witness the torment,
hear the unexpected things and the secrets that are never revealed.
Unclear and inconceivable thoughts about trust and betrayal.

3. Oh! My love

She lowered her head by the guitar in front of the locked doorway
Each drop, each drop of guitar string trembled, sometimes softly,
sometimes hoarsely with sadness
She dreamed
The day her hair was tied back, miraculously young form
Then
The illusionary sounds messed the ponytail

4. At night, the guitar sounds dripping with blood but cannot call the sun

Unable to erase the envy of people
Unable to break the mirror the evil queen looked at
“That mirror dwells in the world” …

5. She started to rise, hold her head high and raise her voice,
the sound of her heart melting on 10 fingers pressing the time key

In fact
She just wished the sun was like tiny globes giving out light, without hurting a single leaf.
The instrument sound replaced a prayer

by Tran Tu Ha

Lies on the lips
An empty vessel never ceases to joke
Hey you
Don’t use muscle in the service of lies
Or show a flooding face under a rainbow.

No time to remove makeup
The curve howl marked the night of rejoicing
Cannot honor on borrowed lips
When the brittle bones crackled without warning

No time to remove makeup
The make-up still trying to hit the cerebral palsy
The mutant faces rushing about with many tricks …

Lies painted on the lips
Don’t use muscle in the service of lies

Oh oh
Season is rising
Water does not flow to the river, do not long for waves!

by Tran Hung

The season gone but shadows still fall.
For decades we have toned our footsteps
together, and she comes to me now
like the moon first touches water,
like the sound of mist and flowers on the pensive road back,

the old, pensive road,
the road where people join people,
but she and I turn back, far away,
following the “Thanh Minh” beats.
She sits like a lotus at the end of the rainy road.
We are like white rice at the end of the rainy road
then she walks slowly,
very far…

On my side there is rain, on her side, a moon.
on my side there is a winter, on her side, a human face of sunflowers.
On my side, there are boats carrying yellow flowers,
On her side, there are a blue drop, a blue road, and a blue heel. (no??)

Slowly she walks
across a decade
and now she nods on the piano
listening to the folk song.
Life is like a bow
in spite of how far the arrow flies
but finally lands on the ground
the way she’s far away but comes back to me
painfully, like velvet!

by Tran Hung

I wish I was there in that moment,
bringing an antidepression dose
or a hopeful dose,

but it’s too late,
there’s a depressed woman.
How did she bring her baby out of the dream?
How did she care for the slender fingers,
those angel fingers that suck the mother’s breasts,
the pink folding with all the germs and baby leaves.
How did she kiss her baby
if she does not soften her lips with white milk?
Night after night she bangs her head into the night.
Her baby is slim and soft.
How can she bare the pink and soothe her baby?
Why doesn’t the baby follow her when she flies down to the abyss?
The farther she falls, the more she’s cold and clean.
Baby, don’t leave,
these are your Icarus wings.
She drops her baby to fly and she follows.
She chooses the quiet time.
She and the water look at each other in the night
then she looks at her baby in the dark sky
there is no sound of falling mist but the sound
of a soft invitation from the abyss.
Is there any cradle that’s milder than water,
any pain that’s milder than water,
any milk fuller than water.
She chooses for her baby this water flower
to put in its pretty lips.
You do not have to breathe anymore,
Or smile in your sleep anymore.