***
For the Wandering Emotions of Home
Stretching out my arms. Letting the wind slip through my fingers. Short. Long. Embracing emotions nurtured over the passing days. Spring arrives. Returning. From the place once left behind. Behind the honking horns. Lively. Carrying people back to the city. Without me. Far away.
"Fatty pork, pickled onions, red couplets
The New Year pole, firecrackers, and green bánh chưng"
Spring comes, spring waits. Another spring. A reunion. Under the roof where generations stand shoulder to shoulder, eyes smiling toward a path of love. Warmth. The first spring greeting cards. Overflowing. Golden apricot blossoms basking in the sun. Gleaming. A red envelope makes a child laugh, revealing a lone wisdom tooth. Innocent wonder.
Another spring to wait for. Hair touched with morning frost, strands shimmering under the spring sunlight. Passing by. Life does not wait. The generations to come always look toward the bright future, not the light left behind. Endless chatter. Through the night. Forgetting a few twinkling stars. Family.
A new spring. Still sweet. No matter how many times. Incense smoke rises, lingering in the heart. Welcoming ancestors back home. Echoing love. Sorrows and grievances of the past year. Let go. From the first to the third day, stretching through the festive days. Family meals abundant, a few drops of sweetness. Wishing for sufficiency. All year. No bitterness. Family members blending dreams together. Planning, hoping. Wiping away bad omens. First fortune-telling of the year. Seeking among the constellations the guiding star. Affection.
Somewhere, a spring melody lingers. Slightly out of sync. No longer the right time. What spring remains, dear spring? The festival days are over. Setting aside nostalgia. Folding warmth away. Fastening family bonds. Returning. From the place once left behind. Behind the honking horns. Urgent.
For the Roads That Lose Emotions
I’ve heard much. About those who stay in Saigon. Welcoming spring in this land where people from all over converge. Some miss a spring at home. Uncounted. What counts are those who remain. Year after year. Vast emotions.
Saigon. For them. A birthplace, a homeland.
Saigon. For them. Not where they were born, but where they built a life.
How many years now? Saigon. Tied to hearts. Fragile, sorrowful, aching, or overwhelmed with emotion. At the year’s beginning.
To walk these streets. Familiar names forgotten. Suddenly. Only sitting, letting my soul drift with the clouds. The city streets stand firm. Not because of the horns, not because of the smog. Only a quiet stroll under the scent of spring. Pure.
To walk these streets. Sparse people, intertwining breezes. Soft pink sunlight. Amidst the city, I do not rush. For this bustling life, like US, is simple. Peace. Existing.
They tell stories. Of moments lingering. Of spring days.
Saigon. To me. Not a birthplace, yet not sure if it will be home.
How many years now? Saigon. Piecing together fragments of souls. Joyful, sorrowful, mad, or drowning in feelings. Throughout the year.
Wandering the roads. Names memorized like a tattered lesson. Yesterday, I had to recite them. The hurried roads carrying restless lives. Leaving emotions aside. Fearing dreams would blur the way. Tripping, falling, lost. No hand waiting at the road’s end. To pull ME up. Only US, passing by, exchanging a few words. A brief connection, surviving for mere seconds. No blame. Life’s rush mixes with some falsehood, fencing in true affection.
Walking these roads again. Scattered footsteps. Searching for a glimpse of those who stayed. Saigon. Finding, in an early new year morning. Peace.
The roads where sunlight tears through the shade. Patchy. Swaying, shifting as the wind stirs the leaves. Gently. Like a loose shoulder strap, leaving eyes adrift in longing. A wandering soul.
Even if emotions remain idly at the corner of home.
Even if the roads in a foreign land have forgotten the names of those who arrived.
It is still a new spring. Overflowing.
Craving, hoping, brimming with dreams.
Why not embrace joy, even if life sometimes sulks?
We begin the new year with trust and love.
Không có nhận xét nào:
Đăng nhận xét