Duy Bui

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A Mother, A Son
Cold drops of rain fall
Through the cracks they crawl
On his young bald head
With his ma they nest
A black dot Mr. Summers has drafted.
Followed ancient tradition from pebbles
To stones. Each darted the grey wind shafted
by friends and neighbors, no distant rebels.
An Echo For A Novel Dream
Holding a loss with great esteem
He lay asleep with old shadows
Circumvent not, new waken dream
Growing Up
I was sure I knew sufferings
My journeys, never infinite
A carpet lay, if one not stray
Swell of days, be on their way
Meditation No.2
Mercy would transpire in the enduring wind at the arrival of every departure.
Time past, present and future die and blossom in one single flower,
Under one faintest moon or one thinnest prism of sunlight.
Past and future effloresce in the never-ending blinks of the eyes,


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6/20/2021 2:13:00 AM #