Poems by Ho Si Binh

What emerges are only personal feelings: the door of a memory has closed, the train whistle has faded away… But beneath that silence lies the belief in resurrection. It turns out that even the fragmented pieces of life, though torn apart, still offer support. So that one can still walk slowly towards other days, to complete the fading golden age. (Nguyen Dong Nhat)

I didn't dare go there several times when I came back home.
Over there in Nam Giao, the wind blows through.
The night calls the moon to return, perfuming silk garments.
The shirt soaked with the scent of the night air.

The moon comes and goes, it's all an illusion.
Suddenly, whoever returns home will see the moon.
Lost in thought at the bottom of the slope in Ben Ngu in the afternoon.
The person left me sitting alone in the cafe.

pale and frail in that stormy day.
His hands were trembling, his lips were cold.
Many seasons have faded away and will never return.
The old garden stretches endlessly, a single seat

The crape myrtle flowers remain purple along the old riverbank.
Who knows what the future holds that will bring heartbreak?
Tiny raindrops caress my eyelids.
The ship's horn blared incessantly along the river.

unless you're playing with the waves
How do you know the love of the ocean?
if you can't see the anchor
How can one know the cherished longing for the shore?

unless you sleep in the middle of the forest
How would you know?
Darkness does not belong to us.
the deep anxieties of the ancient forest

if you don't open the door
in a garden ablaze with colorful flowers
How do we know?
The clear colors of childhood

each poem I write
just to fill the endless void of regret.
if she doesn't pick up the poem to read it
How do we know?
another regret I have
They started flapping their wings and flew up.

if it's raining and windy in the city center at night
She just sat with the door closed.
How would I know the mortal world?
There is a paradise shrouded in darkness.

Pink grass

What kind of grass is so bright red?
like lips in her youth
The colors just keep flowing endlessly.
dropped the distant day

The grass seems to be rustling.
The beginning of winter returns once more.
hair flowing down to the sky
making the morning sun confused

Cranes soaring high in the sky
to fill the memories even more
The clouds are endlessly blue.
I am alone, surrounded by fragrant grass.

Why are you always like a bird?
white shirts of the old days
Did you see the white clouds?
I count the sunshine and rain of life.
How much regret is enough?

pink grass
My lips are pale, my heart aches.