Lately I don't feel like writing poems,
I can't even be bothered to remember my dreams,
can't be bothered to sigh,
to toss and turn,
to go out, come in, shut the door, open it.
Lately I don't much care
to sit and sing a few songs
or drift from café to café.
Life has gone strangely quiet,
no shouting, screaming, tearing apart.
Lately I don't remember many names.
Which belonged to a friend, which to a love, which to someone waiting?
The names I try to keep close drift further away,
the harder I wait, the more distant they grow.
And you, lately, are you happy?
Do you find comfort in the faith you once followed?
Suddenly I remember your name one last time,
and tonight I know how to rhyme again.
Tan, 20 March 2022
First published in Vietnamese on Phong is writing. English translation for this site.
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