Remember the color of the red basalt soil.

Coffee plantations and tea hills stretch as far as the eye can see… against the backdrop of the legendary red basalt soil. On sunny days, red dust rises along the roadside with each passing vehicle, swirling high into the air with the strong wind.

From sunshine to rain, the rainy season brings muddy, silt-laden waters that carry silt to streams, rivers, and plains, enriching the fields and making them greener. Who among those who have lived or passed through this red basalt land hasn't left some impression on their minds? The SGGP newspaper presents two poems by Le Quy Nghi and PN Thuong Doan, recalling this land.

THN

Back into the fallen leaves

The season of old leaves

Where are you?

suction wind

The basalt road has been in use for several years.

He came home and slipped on my ball.

night tilting island

The leg is now

distant handrail

Turn a little greener.

Is there any more gold leaf?

Where are you that you remember the bare branches?

spontaneously combustible

just him and the leaves

Turning poetry into gold

Listen to the old seasons being reborn.

LE QUY NGHI

Rose and morning

Walking past the gray brick house in the morning.

The rose displays its vibrant, shimmering beauty, waiting...

A gentle, captivating fragrance mingled with a vast expanse of nostalgia.

The wind asked the clouds, "Why is it raining this morning?"

Strange clouds before the color of flowers I once remembered

The old garden

old slope

fresh cup of tea

The wooden cafe, painted in the color of basalt soil, greets guests with a melancholic sound.

The lyrics are wet amidst the falling rain.

The old friend is gone.

The sound of the guitar falls with sorrow.

Wandering around the streets in the morning.

Steep slopes, gentle bends, lake shores, curves like the circle of destiny.

The rose smiles, welcoming autumn.

The fragile red leaves remind us of our promise.

We don't go to sea, yet why is the ocean so vast?

The lingering emotions of regret and fading affection.

Silver in the gentle breeze that blows around the slope

On a sunless morning, I feel sorry for my two superfluous hands.

sad, cold, numb fingers

Hesitantly, I walked past the gray brick house, where only the sky remained visible.

mossy courtyard

a doll's smile faded

Some dreams have fallen…

PN THUONG DOAN

THN - LE QUY NGHI - THUONG DOAN WARD

Source: https://www.sggp.org.vn/nho-mau-dat-do-ba-zan-post815146.html