PoetryWorld Literature

Lonely days go up in price – A Bouquet of Poems from Vietnam

Le Hung Tien, eminent poet from Vietnam, the land of Blue Dragon, shares his five poems

Le Hung Tien

Le Hung Tien from Vietnam-Sindh CourierBorn on May 31, 1981, in Ninh Thuan province, Le Hung Tien is the member of Vietnamese Musicians Association since 2007; member of Vietnamese Writers’ Association since 2014. Currently he is a lecturer at University of Da Nang. His published literary works include ‘Forever green, the tree of life (music) 2002; Dedication to a dream (music) 2006; Virtual portrait (poetry) 2007; Fantasy night (Epic) 2011. He has many other literary works to be printed and many co-printed.

Poetry concept

I write poetry to wake up sperms about the essence existence of human. Whether these sperms have a lot of life energy, or what are their dying quality, requiring self-awareness of what our world will be like in a changing environment with many incidents.

Poetry is the same, like the desert battle that experienced many journeys of fighting and survival of the sperms to bring the human life of creative essence. That creativity needs to change the mindset and paradigm so that can bring healthy, effective sperms and always adapt to the new existence of the new era…

Pursuing poetry

It’s just that I want the sperms to be always healthy, full of energy and live with many aspirations, including ambitions to conquer new creation in the human essence, that’s why I write poetry to nurture them, but not pursuing anything for poetry.

Lonely days go up in price

Soulless empty moments

I burn every no-digit step

Loneliness begins to go up in price


Many street meals from the hostel

Many clothes from no-digit services

Big cups of milk coffee are also many from the night storm


Eyes of the street desire the sound of traffic

Moving in memory

Amidst the voice of students, it still lacks myself


I’m struggling for the day stopping grow up

Just pretending to make the night smaller

But loneliness still goes up to a market price


I destroy myself

Among the noise of silence

I stir clouds in other eyes

Poems that can’t speak


The form of memory

The wheel can’t eat time

Pendulum hungers seasons of creative ideas


Sometimes the top blinks

Burning the hill from an illusion space

Poems die unintentionally due to oblivion


I look for them

Taking the effort to release it free

But the sun has set in front of the West


I destroy myself

Self-destroying poems from new breaths of the earth

The world is opening in flying others


Another realm

Tearing the night and sticking it in the hole of the sun

Exhibition before impossible dawn

Day and night amaurornis molt time

Reducing every idea

Reducing every word

Stealing the reducing season in another realm


The sandwich is stuffed the phone full of word-meat

Mosquito-coffee cups and book- eateries

Eyes chew wearily in digital transformation


Red peppers and persimmons in menorrhagia season

Bombs, grenades, guns boom full of money-flowers

The digital eyes drowned in the dry seasons


Exhibition before impossible dawn

The body is not used to with the breathing speed from a closed area of the low low low land

The sun is still galloping on the rise


Every idea

Every word

Consciousness from another another another realm


Da Lat* waves its wings

The roads stretch ideas of flying clouds

Sloping hills cannot make the mountainous chest bigger

The layers without night spot the flickering light-flowers

And bright days pour light into wet eyes


I quietly enter the memory market

Remembering in old days, lips owed a sun-kiss

The face of the reddish man is lost leisurely

The horse hooves come back without the waving of the dawn


Now I’m back to what gained and lost

The grass steps dive into the deep green

Putting a lot of effort for accumulation foolishness

Time pours into an impure glass jar


I am now. And old Da Lat

Two contexts of nice memory seasons

This side, empty moments beat the mountainous chest

On the other side, an immense memory punctures a hole in the sky


Reincarnated words     

Time is dilated

I burn myself through the night

Precarious words survive

The words struggle living for each other

The words are burned in painful deaths

The words lament in their herd

And the words sometimes foreseen their fates

It’s all just dilation of time


When the spindle manages its dream

The epiphany words are from 4 to 5 o’clock sooner or later

The sun does not dare to pour pink on the path of grass

I also don’t know the way back to the remembering eyes

Angels and monsters abandon outside the semantic corridor

It’s all just dilation of time


When time continues to dilate

Releasing is a crime of imagination fellowship

My body is also haunted by words

Immersed in product piles without time


Every time the dawn comes to the field

I plow the harvest of poetry

The words begin to be reborn

Asking for the sun to rise at the horizontal direction

There is no way that grass comes back to the wind

And I start to feel deserted among time of dilation.


(Translated into English by Khanh Phuong)

*Dalat or Da Lat is the capital city of Lam Dong province, Vietnam


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