by Nguyen Binh Phuong

Water fishes the sun
sun fishes the wind

Street fishes people
oh
rural fishes urban

Tomorrow fishes another tomorrow
with an idle face

The eye fishes the dew
the tree glitters with dreams

The bored fish for storm
kids go online fishing for hope…

Donning a dark striped shirt
larger than my thousand wishes
me and my bike
hoo-hoo we cross the bridge
shirt full of wind
yeah
wind fishes the sun

In the maze of game
between death by hunting and life beyond waiting
each clings to an idle fishing rod

by Nguyen Binh Phuong

Quietly he walks and whispers to me
water is a reminiscence of clouds
fire is an old mirage of a blaze
each holds a belief
shyly blooming in the tranquil night

Quietly he walks and glows like sunshine
gentle as fragrance
but hopes he doesn’t spend lavishly
he just tells his lover funny stories
for without them she will fall asleep

Quietly he walks and leaves me with ease
bearing the millennium secret of a gentle breath
the testament he pens on the mist
with the writing of crumpled grass
I am incapable of imagination
shouldering the unbearables
Quietly he walks farther than the moon…

by Nguyen Binh Phuong

Translated by Mai Hoang

Sadness shines on us light the color of chicken fat
a loose handshake and bisexual smile
sadness does not wear a suit or waits for anyone
the eye is amber
beautiful and fierce

Sadness speaks with a platinum accent
in the nights that the city loses power
the street where sails are sold has no sea to head out to

Sadness speeds on motorbike, a white windbreaker across the sky
wearing another pair of glasses, looking at another life
sadness constantly thinks but never loses its way
a name that clangs at noon in summer

Sadness has very fine ears
very gentle steps
slim fingers, silky eyes

Hiding in the shadow of the book that nonchalantly shades the chest
sadness turns off the power switch
and leaves…

by Nguyen Binh Phuong

From ink to paper
farther than
from me to you

Between two steps
we disappear

From death to blue sky
cross a rain bridge

On the old forehead
a question echoes
of old times
light suffuses

Which is white paper? Which is me?