Mother Vietnamese version (pdf)

Mother, there was a poem
I often told myself to write
But year by year, it was delayed
And remained there in me, deep inside

Suddenly, at the end of one hurried day
as the wind was chasing the sun away
I heard a pink rose blossom*
I was stunned
That I no longer needed to look anywhere else
For those beautiful words or new ideas:
“Mother” is already a poem.

*A tradition comes from Buddhists: in the mid-July worship, whose mothers are still alive will be given a pink rose to put on their blouses; whose mothers passed away will receive a white rose.

Dance With Me To the End of Pain *

You name me ‘Tango’ because of my passion for the music, for the dance
I dance to the joy, I dance to the sorrow
I dance for the loneliness nowhere to express
I dance for the happiness of crickets singing in the summer

Dance with me, praising the pure beauty
of the new-born babies’ hands
Dance with me, to the joy that nothing can hold back
for something thought to be lost, suddenly found
something thought to be only in a dream, suddenly becomes realistic:
between soul mates, between blood-tied ones, between closest friends

Also dance with me to the helpless desperation
of a dead hand off the water in the river.
Dance with me to a broken heart
from the loss of trust, being betrayed
from a mistake that never can be fixed

And also dance with me
to the tender silence
of the cross’ carrier
being with each other to the end of pain.

* Inspired by "Dance with me to the end of love" by Leonard Cohen.

The Last Evening in Paris Vietnamese version (pdf)

The last evening, the Paris sky was gray
‘Rain in June’ is not just seen in Saigon
Charles de Gaulle airport was dull
A glass of wine late in the bar, I was alone

Between us, something is lost
Is gone, is dying along some conversations
‘Talking’ is not always better than just ‘feeling’
So now, there are quiet, you and I

You and I could be as different as fire and water
as stars and the moon, red and blue
As a little bird shyly greets the dawn
An eager goat wants to change the world

Among the sea of things not yet understood, not yet said, cannot be said
There is still the appreciation of what have had, what could be shared
We came to Paris as lovers
left the city of romance as good friends

The night was long, I was awake, I slept sound, good dreams, odd dreams
Twelve days are too short in order to grow bigger than one self
but too much for being with a stranger
What does not get across between us is as vast as the sea

Waking up in Paris, the last morning
Good intention, nice memories formed a gentle kiss
But faster than the kiss, you slid out of bed
The kiss slid to the air...

A shooting star is forming a new start.

Differences make the world beautiful
People interesting
Scientists discover
Make us say our goodbyes.

The Kiss Vietnamese version (pdf)

Kisses are not tears
How my heart was touched
Kisses are not breezes
Yet silk threads were still shaken...

How long from close kisses
to indifferent greetings?
Familiar lips turned to ice
Waves no longer surging

Nobody measures
The process repeats
Kisses like time
The season passes

Yet hope arises for kisses to come
That last season left to wait for new seasons

The First Tango Vietnamese version (pdf)

Wrapping around, four legs entertwined
Fluttering in rhythm to deep musical notes
Like two passionate butterflies
that swirl as they float above a vast deep green field.

Fast, fast, back steps
The road behind endlessly stretching
Those wonderful days, so far in the past
Coming back to me all, as I dance to the music

Visions of fresh smelling grass
The harmonious melody is floating
As two become one
Any place that they touch is poetic.

A great, great love
Is not always the first love
The one who loves me the most
Is not the one in front of me.

Soon I forget my melancholy
Pouring my soul into every step
And then in a moment
My legs are fully awake,
moving frenetically
Feverishly flying on the floor.
And I am drunk in the heart of tango.