Bài Mưa Số 2.

(Oct.2nd.2010)

Tầm tã mưa ào lúc giữa trưa
Quán xa thưa đi nước giăng mờ
Xe lao như thể không chờ nữa
Người đếm sầu trôi đếm cả mưa...

Bà bán ngồi buôn với kẻ xa
Cơn mưa tầm tã trót lỡ đường
Tưởng đâu mưa kéo người ta lại
Cuốn những buồn lo xuống bể khơi.

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Ta ngồi ngơ ngẩn ngắm mưa rơi
Chẳng chuốc rượu say chẳng bạn đời
Đĩa cơm ta gọi khi nóng hổi
Chốc chỉ lạnh tanh chẳng nuốt trôi.

Mưa làm người, phố hóa tha hương
Trông mãi chẳng quen chỉ con đường
Làn mưa thấm mãi hồn ta ướt
Lạc mãi nơi xa quên bốn phương...

A friend today sent me this personal poem to help me feel better. It reminds me of a time when the world was just me, and this rainy city. Oh the rain, the tropical sandy pity cruel everlasting rain...By now, I know it was probably just my depression talking, but at the time, I was isolated in my own country, stay away from my family, inside a "birdcage" house, imprisoned in my own place, alone looking into the rain. I was making so many poems like this one, here and there, in notes, on the phone, on some daft papers...probably too silly and sentimental to finish. And the rain keeps coming, seems like that life would never end. 

America changed me, the world looks bigger and drier nowadays. In a few years short, I couldn't even localize some of those pictures that I used to cherish, photos about the rain, and that city where I started my journey to know myself. It was my surprise to find this poem in full. I realize I may have gone far away from those rainy days, yet my life did not become that much better. There is this quote in the Buddhist canon: "The flag is still. The wind is calm. It is the heart of man that is in turmoil” Turns out, my hometown, Sai Gon, or the rain is not that bad after all, it is in my fate that bears the name of sorrow...