A poem in Vietnamese by Lê Vĩnh Tài

Translator: Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm

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the quiet…

in us

endlessly drifts

between our ears and darkness

acknowledges what was unsaid

–

the quiet

the months

years

minutes

a soundly sealed box…

–

only

our hair is left to grow grey

–

those in the spirit of poetry

have shattered

–

quietly

like you dear(em),

now without substance…

*

without your heart

there’s no such thing

as the birth of poetry

since it’s actually

the falling geese feathers

tainted with your blood

–

the poem

it’s not where seabirds

lay their eggs

it’s an annoying grain of sand

in your eye

–

as you blow in a single breath

across the ocean

the poem blows up everything

including the very last battleship

inciting each

and everyone of us

like bamboo spikes(full speed ahead)

heads for the sea