Night
Night is as black as Chinese ink
From where the wind is blowing?
Soul pains rustle
Become dropped leaves in the deep night.
How many leaves must drop down?
Be exchanged for the dawning minute.
Night is as black as the burnt balsam
It swallows a phosphorous above the tomb.
The shout without response
Stupefied to insensibility into the night
Rains heavy or the soul cries
Black night is blacker.
There is a crazy beggar
He used the last mended old coat
Burnt to make a torch
The night gobbled it before burst into flames.
Night is as black as Chinese ink
Where the soul is drifting?
Made the whirlwind
Take the leaves to be interred into the deep forest.
(Holland, 11-1999.)
Lam Viet Tung (Vietnam)
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