10:07 at central station,
platform one, too many
overcoats. walked
wide steps. lord of the
led bulbs reddened
with flesh. it is what it is.
returned under dense night.
now soundless, thinking.
said people like flies.
i laughed. moon
the head of pig. then cried,
preying by want. through
the bloodied landscape.
of quickening restaurants
and stale-dough perfume.
talks measured in meters,
wind-torn. walking with friend.
said the play something
about silenced democracy.
couldn’t vote for the lord.
this body. tumbling feet.
soreful winter. too cold
tonight. how are you?
she asked. my neck
pressed to train’s window.
said don’t know anymore.
thinking of the one
who left in november.
Duy Quang Mai (born 2002) Vietnam
Source: Red Room Poetry
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please keep your comments relevant and free from abusive language. Thank you. Note that comments are moderated so it may be a day or two before your comment is posted - irrelevant or abusive comments will not be published.