FOR THE FILMS OF TRẦN ANH HÙNG Comments

There exists a space outside of home which you visit as often as home

You are in love with green,
You translate every scene into green
I am in love with you,
I translate every scene into you
Your blindness is the colour green,
The colour of my blindness is you

There is a poet who is a criminal: a criminal who is a poet: he is almost mute: muteness is, well, an almost: in the background distant, he mumbles a poem: in the foreground, grudgingly commits a crime: he recites a poem like a crime: commits a crime like a poem: a cigarette bonded to his lips: sentences finding no bond with lips: whenever he has to cry, the eyes do not weep: his nose starts bleeding:

A ca dao folk song echoes somewhere afar:
Aimlessly in the streets, the poet wanders
Finds that he has forgotten the way

The kite of my childhood
Is my tattered aspiration hanging in open sky

In the courtyard of reluctance, the poet resides: Verses are the verdure of his reluctance.
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