Only one cell in the frozen hive of night
is lit, or so it seems to us:
this Vietnamese café, with its oily light,
its odors whose colorful shapes are like flowers.
Laughter and talking, the tick of chopsticks.
Beyond the glass, the wintry city
creaks like an ancient wooden bridge.
A great wind rushes under all of us.
The bigger the window, the more it trembles.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (In January by Ted Kooser )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
- Men who see no day, Zimba Sundrogo
- Handsome and king, hasmukh amathalal
- Stoned by sadness, Nalini Chaturvedi
- The Goodness of a Life-mate (Section-6 .., rajendran muthiah
- Heart to, hasmukh amathalal
- An Ode to my Tree, Kelly Curiel
- foliage, snehanair manikkath
- Love Lures Life! - sonnet-, Manjeshwari P MYSORE
- Yamashita/Medina Standard, Richard Thripp
- drops of dew, binod bastola