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By Nguyen Qui Dinh Many yellow flowers are flying in the other side of space Mixed with the red fire crackers. All kinds of robes and of all colors = Rosy, blue, Violet Going back - swinging - to the small hamlet With two hands carrying the Spring. The warm tears Blotted with their sleeves and through the hand skin To the broken heart. Here it is not in the depth of the detestable winter Or on the burned desert. But it is an ordinary winter - melancholy, gloomy and too old. There are many blue eyes Blue eyes like the sky or the sea Located in the optimist mind; Or many hair bouquets: blond, golden, brown or black Lying in the hands of the young men Who have four Springs in a year. I know that the true Spring is coming over there. Here it is the fifth season. It is raining without winds and clouds. Right now it is 4 p.m. but looks like 4 a.m. And all the abandoned, bare trees. Suddenly, the winds . . . . In bloom. Yellow flowers are flying in the other side of space. Here it is not in the depth of the winter Or on desert. But the Spring is coming on my heart's desert. |
![]() ![]() In October 2002 I received a phone message and an e-mail from Dinh! His son was looking up Nguyen Qui Dinh in a web search and found this page. They were very surprised. Dinh is now in Hawaii. He had great difficulty after the communist takeover of South Viet Nam and lost all his personal property including his poetry. I will send him the original of this one and I hope to visit him in Hawaii some day. |
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