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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required By Phan Tan Hai Turning back, glancing sideways, stepping in, being pushed out. A waterfall of bodies shoving, crowds surging forward, lines of frightened people pulling one another—walking, running, leaping, waves of people trampling over each other, flowing like rapids, like rivers—no time to look ahead, no time to look beside, no time to look beneath their feet; someone presses from behind, someone urges from the front, shouting. I stand at the margin watching, amid hailstorms hurled across, storms of curses flying through the sky, across the streets, across forests and mountains, across winding paths, across layered valleys— no way out. No way out, I search for you, pensive, blurred, waiting, no way out, in clouds that gather and break. Please look back toward the margin, where those with no place left on earth stand, where I hold out my hand, palm up, asking for blessing; then turn it down to keep a little warmth, shivering. Hurry, hurry a little more, before the human torrent sweeps you away, and then one day we will close our eyes and remember the moment we ran beyond the boundary—hurry, just a little, before the clouds scatter. I return to sit and weep, bent over, writing lines of poetry on paper, on the wooden beam beside the bridge, on the square brick of the sidewalk, on the window glass before my house, hoping dimly that one day the human torrent will push you back, and you will find my words strung across the sky, across the streets, across forests and mountains, across winding paths, across layered valleys— no way out—and I sit among mountains of words, mountains of words, mountains of words. But it is late: the page once held by someone has been torn, the wooden beam by the bridge has broken, the brick has cracked, and I am here picking up each shard of shattered glass, piecing together each fragment, each broken word—and you, my original, innocent soul, where are you, where are you. I am standing at the margin, at the margin…
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