Tiếng Anh

Sounds

If you hear the sound of the key in the lock
When you come home at night
Know that you are alone

If you hear a small cracking sound
When you push the light switch
Know that you are alone

If the sound of your heart doesn't let you sleep
When you go to bed
Know that you are alone

If you hear that time is nibbling
The books and papers in your room
Know that you are alone

If a voice from the past
Is calling you to the old days
Know that you are alone

If you want to escape from loneliness
Without appreciating it
You are totally alone even if you can escape

Longing

You made me wait so long, so long that
I got used to missing you
You came back after a long time
I now love longing for you more than I love you

The Most Beautiful

This museum,
It is beautiful only when I go there with you.
When there is no one else in the hall,
Kissing you is the most beautiful thing.
This raki,
It is beautiful only when I'm drinking it with you.
Whoever is around,
The most beautiful thing is to kiss your mouth with raki.
This world, you see,
It is beautiful only if I'm living with you
And you,
You are beautiful only if you are with me

To the bridge of love,
old stone between high cliffs
eternal meeting place, red dusk.
I come with my heart.

My beloved is only water,
which is always flowing, and doesn't decieve,
which is always flowing, and doesn't change,
which is always flowing, and doesn't end.

How long it’s been, ten years perhaps,
  Since I’ve passed by this street!
And yet I lived here for a time—
  About two years, or three.
The street’s the same, there’s almost nothing new.
  But if it could see me and comment,
It would say, “He’s the same, but how I’ve changed!”
  Thus our souls remember and forget.
We pass by streets and by people,
  We pass our own selves, and we end,
Then, on the blackboard, Mother Intelligence
  Erases the symbol, and we start again.

If sometimes I say that flowers smile
And if I should say that rivers sing,
It’s not because I think there are smiles in flowers
And songs in the rivers’ flowing…
It’s so I can help misguided men
Feel the truly real existence of flowers and rivers.

Since I write for them to read me, I sometimes stoop
To the stupidity of their senses…
It isn’t right, but I excuse myself,
Because I’ve only taken on this odious role, an interpreter of Nature,
Because there are men who don’t grasp its language,
Which is no language at all.

To see him again

Never, never again?
Not on nights filled with quivering stars,
or during dawn’s maiden brightness
or afternoons of sacrifice?

Or at the edge of a pale path
that encircles the farmlands,
or upon the rim of a trembling fountain,
whitened by a shimmering moon?

Or beneath the forest’s
luxuriant, raveled tresses
where, calling his name,
I was overtaken by the night?
Not in the grotto that returns
the echo of my cry?

Oh no. To see him again --
it would not matter where --
in heaven’s deadwater
or inside the boiling vortex,
under serene moons or in bloodless fright!

To be with him...
every springtime and winter,
united in one anguished knot
around his bloody neck!

Pine forest

Let us go now into the forest.
Trees will pass by your face,
and I will stop and offer you to them,
but they cannot bend down.

The night watches over its creatures,
except for the pine trees that never change:
the old wounded springs that spring
blessed gum, eternal afternoons.

If they could, the trees would lift you
and carry you from valley to valley,
and you would pass from arm to arm,
a child running
from father to father.

A Winter Evening  

When the snow falls against the window,
The evening bell rings long,
The table is prepared for many,
And the house is well cultivated.
Some in their wanderings
Come to the gate on dark paths.
The tree of grace blooms golden
From the earth's cool sap.
Wanderer, step silently inside;
Pain has petrified the threshold.
There in pure radiance
Bread and wine glow on the table.

Spring

The dew of spring, which falls down
From dark branches, the night comes
With star beams, because you forgot about light.
Under the arch of thorns you lay and the barb dug
Deeply in the crystal body
So that fierier the soul weds the night.
The bride has adorned herself with stars,
The pure myrtle
Which bends over the adoring countenance of the dead.
Full of blossoming shiver
The blue coat of the mistress finally embraces you.