Joe Nguyen Poet Free verse

A Trembling Nostalgia

On this path again this evening, I return
watching golden rays fall
on the beloved grassy banks-
and my soul feels gently lifted
by the scent of lotus,
my heart unfolding
like a hundred golden chrysanthemums.

I hear, somewhere,
the river’s loving murmur,
whispering through yearning stones.
I hear, somewhere,
a bird’s sweet song
carried on the soft breeze,
and buffalo hooves returning-
chewing the same dew-drenched grass
from that very first dawn.

On this village road,
this evening, yellow leaves fall in abundance,
and my soul rejoices
like a laughing child.
Outside someone’s fence,
bougainvillea blossoms wildly—
like the smile of a nine-year-old sister,
like the gleam of joy
in an old mother’s eyes upon her porch.
In someone’s garden,
a young girl hangs her clothes in the twilight,
dreamily gazing toward the far horizon.
Let me send my greetings.
Let me come close to her.
Let me come close, dear soul.

At the foot of this bridge,
this evening I lean in thought,
my heart stirred
by distant memories-
of waiting in shyness,
of the breeze flowing through silky hair,
of a tilted hat hiding a springtime smile-
and somewhere, still,
the rhythm of oars
awakens the heart of a wanderer far from home.

In this roadside teashop,
this evening, I sit and light a cigarette,
my mind adrift
like it’s drunk on old wine.
Why does this marketplace feel so lonely, dear one?
Where have our loved ones scattered to?
Why do I feel my tears rising,
choking behind the walls of my heart?

Around these old haunts,
I stand stunned this evening.
This old, faded shirt
to whom shall I return it?

O passerby-
please, let me come near.
Please pull me close.
Please pull me close.

Deacon Joe Hung Nguyen
(khe Kinh-Kha)

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