Tìm bài trả lời thơ

Có những đêm, không gian không phải là tĩnh lặng, mà là một bản hoà tấu của những nỗi niềm. Đêm ở chốn biên thuỳ, cái đêm “ngoài ải” mà Hồ Xuân Hương nhỏ lệ, chính là một đêm như thế. Nơi đây, gió sương không chỉ làm se sắt da thịt, mà còn làm mỏng đi vách ngăn giữa thực tại và ký ức.

On the road of olive flowers
For the Palestinian writers

The olive trees on the side of the road
Bloom the morning flowers
The light from thousands of years
Comes back and shines
Each of our footprint

We walk under the olive trees shade
Under the shadow of the muzzle
Under the shade of the cloud of words
Covering us

Together we raise our voices
The rhythm of the deaths
Without funerals
In the historical witching hours
The rhythm of the bloody tricks
In the shadow of the newly painted cathedral
And the mass outfit
That has not cleaned of the stain
Drying in the bruising sky

But the rhythm of poetry
Echoes in the invisible tomb
On top of a hopeless hill
Flush on the hundred-year-old olive trees
Flush on the windows
Open up the sadness of a thousand years
Flush on the candle fires last night
On the bedside of someone dying
And a pair of unmovable eyes
That is not Satan watching

We have yet to reach the end of the road
Yet to reach the end of olive flower season
Everything is drown in the war
Our poems are soaked in blood
And around us
The printers are still running
As if nothing happened
To keep printing the Bibles.

The letter

Written in the middle of the night
Summer of 2024
Thunders roared in the horizon
Brought a rain of tears

The branches of olives
Ripped in fear
And rows of letters falling
Toward the hills

A peaceful phase
Is removed by the invisible shadow
Replaced by a drop of blood
Not from the eyes of the writer
But from a cloud
In the shape of a body full of holes
Drifting in the sky
Spreading like a tsunami
From the Death Sea

When an olive tree falls down
When someone’s shadow falls down
The letters is sent
Amidst the scream of the mailman.

The traitor

When I cried for the innocent murdered Palestinians
One of God’s followers said:
- You are opposing the children of God
- God will smite you
- God will punish you

Please smite me
Punish me
When I cry for the death
Of the innocents
Who are not your children

I look up
I see God cry
His tears like blood
With his great and infinite love
God cries for all the sorrow in the world

God is not a leader
Who gathers an army for himself
God is LOVE.

More than 2000 years ago
One man betrayed God
But more than 2000 years later
Too many His beliebers betray Him
Amen.

In front of president Yasser Arafat memorial

Now he is resting
Carrying the unfinished dream
Of his nation
His death was mysterious
As other mysteries named Palestine

He is in his forever sleep
But is still in his usual military uniform
With his gun that is also tired
Next to the documents
Full of words
Of dreams

He cannot resurrect like Jesus
But his dream of peace
Sprouts every night
Like a field of olive trees
In the rain of tears
Of the Palestine sleep
In the prisons
And concentration camps

In 1993
The world called his name
And gave him the peace Nobel Prize
But peace did not come.

Outside the Christmas Church

In the Christmas Church
Where Jesus was born
I was among the pilgrims
To touch the 14-side star

And outside the Christmas Church
On the hills of Bethlehem
Every night I looked up in the sky
To find the brightest star
The sign of a miracle
For the agonizing century

And outside the Christmas Church
My eyes were wide opened
To search among the Bethlehem women
Who were silently walking
Who would be the one to carry
And give birth to a Saint?

And outside the Christmas Church
On the “shepherd field” afar
There were only patient sheep marching
In the windy afternoon.

In front of a jewelry store
For writer Nguyen Binh Phuong

He stood there for what seemed to be 100 years
In in front of the jewelry store
Named Da’na Jewelry
In Ramallah

The store was broken into
Inside there was nothing
But emptiness
And the walls
Spotted with darkness

He didn’t come to buy
Some expensive jewelry
For his wife at home
Who usually wake up at noon

And then I realized
On a wall
Of that jewelry store
There was someone’s shadow

It was the shadow of a street vendor
On the sidewalk
Picking up the trees
I thought that was the owner of the jewelry store
Putting out the jewelry
Of the dark
And waiting for him to buy.

Date seeds

The fact that we can’t take seeded dates
Outside the border of Palestine
And the poem I am writing
Have no connection

But planted somewhere
In the dates is silence
Has nothing to do with this poem
I was about to write the next sentence
But suddenly
The dates start to crack open
The eyes that were sleeping in the dark
Wake up and open wide
I don’t know if within those eyes
Is my little reflection

Try to write the next sentence
Not related to the date seeds
The Israeli soldiers at the Palestine border
Didn’t find any dates with seed
In my luggage or bags
But there is something they don’t know
The date seeds have silently planted
On the endless field of poetry words.

The bird at Jordan airport

Nguyen Binh Phuong showed me
A bird seemed to be sleeping
On the roof
Of Jordan airport
While we were
In line to board the plane
With our bags, luggage...

Suddenly the bird disappeared
Into nothingness of the sky
Without a sound behind
While the plane
Roared and flustered
Like a monster
To take off

And at that moment the passengers were chatty
About the tightness
Of the carry-on cabinet
With the curse of the seats
In economy class
Squeezing their bodies

The plane was at the altitude
11000 meters
But our minds
Were still dragging heavily on the ground
Full of darkness
Even when we turn on all the lights
And on the fancy bed
In the dream
We don’t have the strength
To flap our wings and fly.

The clouds

The clouds fly from Israel to Palestine
And the clouds fly from Palestine to Israel
They met above the hills
The winds from the ocean come
Dance with them
The freedom sky dance

They make the rain
Waken the olive trees
To get up and bloom
Waken the grapes
To open their eyes and ripe
Waken an old man
In the west concentration camp
To get out of his nightmare

And waken a stranger
With a passport that says:
Nguyen Quang Thieu
Then slide under the door
A piece of paper
With no word on it.