Our childhood, we had no time
to spend idling by rivers and seas.
The war so soon upon us. In the jungle
the moon's halo, our only close friend.
Our lives stripped bare under the heavens,
we lived free as the wild grasses;
nothing to miss or forget,
only the moon's pure halo of friendship.
But from the time we came back to the city,
accustomed to the electric lights and glass doors,
we began to believe that the moon's halo
had passed like a stranger across the road.
The lights went out,
darkening the building,
we rushed to open the window,
saw the full moon's halo.
Tonight, I lift my face and look
to see if anything still shines,
shines as bright as the rice field,
bright as the ocean, as the river, the jungle.
Old round moon, so perfectly round,
look down on this indifferent one;
let your light, so calm and silent, absolutely silent,
be enough to awaken me.
http://vietnampoetry.wordpress.com/collection-from-the-net/the-poetry-of-nguyen-duy-traditional-voice-modern-vision/
