sixteen incense sticks

At sixteen, the sweet scent of candied plums hides dreams in the pages of notebooks; at sixteen, someone uses their blood to draw a heart on a row of tombstones, like silent bookshelves in a library, the moon shining down on sacred letters on a moonlit night.

How many boys and girls haven't had the chance to learn how to be charming?
At sixteen, he carried the country through the jaws of bombs, dodging artillery fire.
A carefree smile remains forever with the full moon.

This incense stick is one of millions of incense sticks.
illuminating the entire Truong Son mountain range, casting its shadow upon the pages of history.
The blood of sixteen is as vibrant as an immortal flower.
Incense smoke rises, painting smiles.

The silent stone monument of time bows its head.
This moment of silence is not enough to call out names.
He only held a stick of incense, trembling before the spirit of sixteen.
Listen to the earth's silence lull the souls of the deceased to sleep peacefully.

The Truong Son Mountains are now surrounded by clouds and wind.
The night is as dark as the hair of a sixteen-year-old.
The shadows lined up, faint and indistinct.
Silence...
Silently listening to the candle tell stories of our land.

Source: https://baoquangnam.vn/nen-nhang-muoi-sau-3157194.html