PoetryWorld Literature

NIGHT IN THE MOUNTAIN – Poetry from Vietnam

Young poetess Lu Hong from the land of Blue Dragon shares her seven poems


Nguyen Lu Thu Hong

Lữ Hồng - Vietnam-Sindh CourierBorn in February 9, 1992 in Bien Ho commune, Pleiku city, Gia Lai province, Vietnam, she graduated from Faculty of Literature, Quy Nhon University, majoring in Pedagogy in 2013. Currently she lives and working in Gia Lai province. Her poetry works published in Military Art, Song Huong magazine, Writer and Life magazine, Letters and Arts Newspaper, Ho Chi Minh City’s letters and arts weekly magazine, Army and People newspaper, Tien Phong newspaper, Youth newspaper, Knowledge magazine. She is member of Gia Lai Association of Literature and Arts. Her published books are: Poetry collection “Wake up in the morning” (Vietnam Writers’ Association Publishing House, 2017); Essays collection “Waiting for fog in the middle of the street” (Army and People Publishing House, 2020).



When the knuckles no longer knew where to wave

Then the moon fell asleep in the old light

A day turned into smoke


On this high land

The night’s warmth was thin as mythical

But the cold was so thick


Now just only us

Proud and lonely

Like a house without a number


Oh which candle stayed?

Let me burn the winter, winter

And the winters


Mountains were still mountains, silently

Called me to the delirious verses

Told story with silent alphabets.



The one who promised to go to the mountains

To see pine trees light up leaves in the afternoon

When memories showed on the sunset and felt asleep

We existed as a waiting stone


The smell of the dry sun tanned into the mountain skin

Many years the water flowed over the bridge

So loose but so bumpy

There was a stream, but the mountain burned without pain


When you came back, the stone would turn gray

In the memories in the forest of youth

Purple afternoon, purple jamelonier branch

We hoped to find in the bottom of the plateau’s eyes


The night dew was pouring, the rock was freezing cold

The mountain steam at night blew around my heart

Watching the living things turned in the two seasons of clear – muddy

On its own, the rock only had winter.




Wouldn’t solve anything

If we both keep quiet

Love was not a river

To be lost to the sea

We were

Not incarnations of rotten wood

So that

Courage to be silent


When the darkness… got darker

Summer doors had a fever

We convulsed in the flashback

A cold dream


It was late

It was always too late to wake up

Even if only dreams were true

The world was a mystery

Like a distant poem


Just kept quiet,

Had not to tell a lie

Please, darkness

Washed heart from the summer side…



Then the fever was gentle

On the skin

Cells were full of mysteries

The virus began to be lonely

Trembled itself


It would be forgotten

Numbers were as cold as ice

Like those who gone and left graves for those who stayed

When the sunset was on fire

I bowed my head

Waited to see the stars


Twenty-four hours to understand my fate

Twenty-four hours floated

Nodded to remember a trip

I suddenly grew old in my imagination.



The trees bowed their heads and waited

Street went to the end of summer

Still green on a sunny day

Blended into the sparse roofs


The day you never came

I bowed my head to hear the broken afternoon

I pretended to be so gentle

Went through the thing I have got – lost the human place


You hid behind the cold leaf season

Afternoon went to the heart of the city

I turned old in every look


My presence  

Just made the afternoon street emptier…



I came here on a trip

Cloudy highland

Thousands of clouds flew and touched the hair

White a life of tolerance


Then the full moon night, I dreamed

Mother’s shadow followed the moon

The world became an inn

Sent people back for a hundred years


I cried in the blue sky

Begged to come and hug mother’s hair

Made a delicate rose

Cried when I was lonely


Mother sent sadness to the land

White cranes flew away

I – the wild flower

Lost the sun.



After zero hours, it was still night

Passers-by did not chant

The sound of insects prayed for peace in the moon

By the winds of January


Who built fire in the night?

Let the smoke intoxicated the old glaze

Another spring left while I felt asleep

Sudden thirsted for the moon like a poet thirsted for loneliness


No one poured me a glass of clear white wine

To burned the fierce to be peaceful, to turned the bitter into sweet

Well then wrote a verse to testify

That I softened my lips


The moon tightened in the night a mirror looks

Listened to the heart fluttering in the old windy area

I had made an oath, but time didn’t keep me as green as grass

Then I blushed and waited in the night of the full moon…


(Translated into English by JyKhanh)


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