Our feet thumped the bricks of Hanoi
These eyes were fervent for the Long Bien Bridge
Old quarter’s map shown us West
We sauntered the Independence Day streets
We stopped, we looked, and we breathe
One did not retaliate for kilometers amble
Her orange shirt dabbed the skin’s liquid
The other’s flip flops clutched her weight
Shops of ranges merchandise
Have splurged flanks of access roads
We cannot charge our heading
The Red River is nothing but a pipe dream
(written on September 02,2008, Hanoi City, Vietnam)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem