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Ett rhyme om diktarens erfarenheter av det underbara livet i Vietnam i allmänhet, och av det underliga nattlivet med tillhörande kvinnor i synnerhet. (Hue, Vietnam)


The night of the Cicadas

I sat outside one evening,
remembering the day.
All sounds were so enchanting,
my mind drifted away.

I heard the sounds of glasses,
being raised towards the sky.
I heard the sounds of honkings,
from vehicles passing by.

Then suddenly I heard one sound
that I could not recall.
A canon of voices impaling my ears,
along my spine it began to crawl.

I looked upon the starry sky,
at lights that made me shiver.
What was that thing that I just heard,
by the shore of Perfume River?

A distant wisdom then replied
that I should not feel fear.
"This is the night of the Cicadas.
They sing for you, my dear."

I was a fool, believing this,
so I just continued to listen.
The song they sang got more intense.
and I would regret my stupid decision.

The Cicadas were in fact the Sirens
and now they tried to snare me.
That I would be put under a hex,
here in Hue, was nothing I could foresee.

Their vocals kept me petrified,
from red lips they erupted.
Then from the sky a star fell down,
and the spell was interrupted.

"Is this my chance to get away?
Is this my now or never?"
While hesitating, they kissed me to death,
and inevitably, I was lost forever.




Bunden vers (Rim) av koboltblå VIP
Läst 119 gånger och applåderad av 1 personer
Publicerad 2016-05-06 08:29



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