Đạn Mùa Đông

 Anh ở tiền tuyến biết không
Hậu phương em vẫn khóc mong tin chồng.
Đầu kia súng giữ buôn làng 
Đầu này bông lúa gửi ra nuôi chàng.
Rượu đã nhấp nợ đã mang
Một đời âu yếm, thênh thang bóng hình
Ráng chiều ai ngỏ tâm tình
"Liệu người một kiếp, một mình bên ta?"
Nào màng sương khói bay xa
Vầng dương khẽ hát khúc ca đất trời.
Thoáng qua, nay lại xa rời
Song thưa sập đóng, nắng thôi gieo vần.
Xuân theo giấc mộng tan dần
Hạ hoa say giấc bần thần trắng đêm
Thu về vẫn một cái tên
Mà đông năm ấy ai quên câu thề.
Anh đi chẳng hẹn ngày về
Em trông đỏ mắt, trời quê đỏ bừng
Giữa đêm pháo sáng mịt mùng
Tay thon sẫm máu lại vùng súng lên.
Vỏn vẹn hồi ức đi bên
Hỏa châu nước mắt bên ngoài lòng sông
Bom đạn đã chí tang bồng
Anh về nơi đất, em trông lên trời. 


********















Lần đầu viết thơ tiếng Việt theo thể thơ này,,kk. Dạo này t cảm thấy không viết được nữa, buồn quáaa

Bài này ban đầu là thơ về mùa xuân, sau sửa lại lời mới thành ra về chiến tranh. Muốn ghép thêm nhạc mà k kiếm được bài nào hay aaa. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

What I Left and What Left Me

Image
  I thought I left my childhood behind with the country when I moved away, but I didn’t. The ghosts of the country haunt me, the scents and tastes of those years gnaw at me, the vague faces in homesick reveries grip me by the throat, rasping and whimpering about an uncompleted promise I once made.  And they won’t ever leave.       My childhood does not die at once, but multiple times throughout my life, reminding me of a life I had to reluctantly let go of. It died when I noticed that I no longer want to look back at the younger version of myself. It died again when I stepped off the plane into a land of foreign tongues, like an unfitting trespasser. Fragment by fragment, I tried to grip at the fading memories and begged them to stay—but they never listened. They keep on moving, keep on changing, keep on replacing themselves until the only thing left is broken shards of the life I once had. That life will never return, and I left so soon that I can’t ev...
Read more

Rotten Honey

Image
      Today is me and my wife's two years anniversary. I was away on a business trip last year, but I'm home now. I can't wait to spend the day with her.      It was only 8 a.m when I woke up, sunshine streaming lazily through the cracks of the curtains. My eyes opened slowly—it is unusually bright today despise it being the middle of winter and there are more clouds than there is sun. I sat up, looking groggily around the room. My wife is nowhere to be seen. This has been going on for a while, probably since I caught her having an affair with one of my colleagues a week ago (or, as I awkwardly refer to it: "The Incident"). I did not make a fuss out of it, but she has been avoiding me by spending her time lounging in our basement. We'd go to bed together at night, then I'd wake up all alone, nostrils stinging from a pungent smell of room freshener.      My wife suddenly developed a penchant for that smell, so she began to use it for our ...
Read more

Moon Through My Window

I opened the window as wide as I could, Then I took of the window screen. It's dusty, scabby with blood From cadavers of insects that I found obscene.  My hand has been part of their deaths My eyes saw things I now regret But I opened it anyways, and threw the screen off of my bed.  There, the moon waits patiently. I feel as if you're here, Shining so bright in the sky,  clearing out my pain and fear. The cicadas sing, a nocturnal hymn Melancholic and humble, an orchestra when the sky dims.  Now that everything is cleared, I sit on the window sill, legs aching. Not ready to fall back into bed,  I lean into the night's hummings. Behind the trees, lampposts stand  Unresponsive when I extended my hand. So I reach out for the moon—for you Knowing this time, I'd be listened to.  Just like every other time The moon listens to me, for she has known the story of us— the story I asked her to look after. Sharp and swift, she weaved my plea Into a ribbon that ti...
Read more