You hang yourself on the tower wall for thousand years
Apsara dance stamped on the time
Feet on the ground, hands against the sky to keep from collapse
The powerless fallen empire with time!
[author title=”Do Toan Dien” image=”https://sindhcourier.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/02/Poet-Do-Toan-Dien-from-Vietnam-Sindh-Courier.jpg”]Poet DO TOAN DIEN was born in Cam Son – Cam Thuy – Thanh Hoa province of Vietnam; He is member of Vietnam Writers’ Association and Dak Lak Literary and Art Association; He got 9 literary awards, 4 literary certificates and is author of 13 poetry books. [/author]
Sanctuary of My Son
You hang yourself on the tower wall for thousand years
Apsara dance stamped on the time
Feet on the ground, hands against the sky to keep from collapse
The powerless fallen empire with time!
Ancient towers under the horizon collapsed
Piece of time scratched the face of statue
The stream flowing for thousands of years
Cei Bunga* appeared from the ruins.
I talked to you in the cold wilderness
You sympathized with thousands of thousands of ghosts
Brought the soul to build the indigo tower, the ancient citadel
Now, the wilderness ruined with thousands of autumns
Many tourists from all over the world gathered
To recall the desolated dynasty!
(*The general who ruled Champa from 1360–1390 CE – He was also known as The Red King in Vietnamese stories)
***
A beggar
The old age carrying poverty, raising hands to ask for kindness
Owners are indifferent
Retorted
Looked…
A dog of the rich barked in the lonely afternoon!
A hand that tried full of day, struggled with pence
A little bit of human love, sent to the torn hat
Echoing behind the bitter drops
The up and down flowing in the emotionless mess
Heaven and earth are likely a wedge
Crowd of deformed souls
Suddenly bewildered of the human being!
***
Hands of the ceramist
Touching the clay
The clay breathed in chests of the statues
Flowers bloomed in his hands
Shaking…
Magic
The sacred spirit of the clay
Brave Mandarin with swords
The Monkey King flew out from Buddha Mountain…
Land in his hands
Waken up
Breath of the life
Breathe of the clay!
***
Turning to stone
Please, don’t turn to stone
Let me find out
Lost a hundred years
Please, don’t turn to stone
Let me see
Tired eyes in the world
I’m looking for
Moss covered with green
Sad times fossilized
Grieved the feeling
Rooted along the time!
***
Writing in front of the cemetery monument
The war had drained every drop of tear,
Mother can’t cry over the youth graves,
The threads of time burned to the ashes of mother’s hair,
Green leaves fallen before yellow leaves.
The war had receded into the past,
Leaving cemeteries as thousands of scars on the body of the country,
Engraved in time with painful losses!
The scattered souls are still wandering in the border areas,
Wandering on foreign lands that have not yet returned
The gunfire has been silent for forty years
The television still shows messages to find soldier-mates.
The deep sea, rivers, streams, battlefields were everywhere.
The country is dense with pain,
We cannot turn every corner, road or delta strip.
We cannot level the Truong Son mountain range to find graves…
The war dug its own graves
“Which side wins, the people are the ones who suffer”
Peeling the sad tears that have flowed for thousands of years!
___________________
