The
river has turned cold, the mist having lifted,
Its
current gets immerged in torrents coming from afar.
Rain
is jubilantly blossoming between sky and earth,
Drop
following drop, the Galaxy rises star after star.
Which
drops would fall on which head-waters?
Which
drops would soak old rosy cheeks with verve?
Which
drops would land on whose shy hair?
Which
drops would attach to what eyelashes’ curve?
Thousands
of flowers spread over the stream,
The
waves embrace the images of reflected clouds.
The
pour agitates the face of the watercourse,
Hazy
becomes the smog, shattered grow the sounds.
Translation by THANH-THANH