There are poems never written
It’s not the poem I don’t want to write.
The grapes of prime time were frozen by weather
Ten thousands of green bunches suddenly became stunted in mid-season.
The couple of lovers were afraid even of their dreams
And resigned themselves to an upright burial on this side of everyday life.
The merry-go-round language is a barrier to truth
There are a hundred exits without an entrance.
The thin poet stopped aspiring to the moon and stars
And busied himself with earthly swamps.
The flower blossomed its whole heart, automatically
A brutal foot trampled it down.
Many writers with a treasury of possessions
Wasted their youth in working as beggars.
With a presence of hundred years the long poem of Glang Anak
Could not sow green seedlings in people’s hearts.
Nguyễn Trãi suffered the pain of heaven and earth
After six centuries his poems are still poignant.
It’s not the poem I cannot to write
There are poems never written.
Translated by Nguyen Tien Van