The Cake That Drifts In Water
My body is both white and round.
In water I may sink or swim.
The hand the kneads me may be rough,
But I still shall keep my true-red heart.
poem by Ho Xuan Huong
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Floating Sweet Dumpling
My body is powdery white and round
I sink and bob like a mountain in a pond
The hand that kneads me is hard and rough
You can't destroy my true red heart
poem by Ho Xuan Huong
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Snail
Mother and father gave birth to a snail
Night and day I crawl in smelly weeds
Dear prince, if you love me, unfasten my door
Stop, don't poke your finger up my tail!
poem by Ho Xuan Huong
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Lamenting Widow
A woman wails, boo hoo, mourning her man
Shut up, shame on you, don't cry to the hills!
O little sister, I should have warned you
Don't eat the meat, if it makes you cough blood!
poem by Ho Xuan Huong
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Wasps
Where are you wandering to, little fools
Come, big sister will teach you how to write verse
Itchy little wasps sucking rotting flowers
Horny baby lambkins butting gaps in the fence
poem by Ho Xuan Huong
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To A Couple Of Students Who Were Teasing Her
Where are you going, my dear little greenhorns?
Here, I'll teach you how to turn a verse or two
Young drones sucking at withered flowers,
Little goats brushing horns against a fence.
poem by Ho Xuan Huong
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Picking Flowers
If you want to pick flowers, you have to hike.
Climbing up, don't worry about your weary bones.
Pluck the low branches, pull down the high.
Enjoy alike the spent blossoms, the tight buds.
poem by Ho Xuan Huong
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Day and Night
Peekaboo we used to play;
my hands covered my face,
your hands covered your face,
incredible, there we were gone.
That is what we play now, your
hands on my face and my hands
on your eyes. Incredible
how we disappear into each other.
poem by Ho Xuan Huong
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The Jackfruit
I am like a jackfruit on the tree.
To taste you must plug me quick, while fresh:
the skin rough, the pulp thick, yes,
but oh, I warn you against touching --
the rich juice will gush and stain your hands
Translated by Nguyen Ngoc Bich
Anonymous submission.
poem by Ho Xuan Huong
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Spring-Watching Pavilion
A gentle spring evening arrives
airily, unclouded by worldly dust.
Three times the bell tolls echoes like a wave.
We see heaven upside-down in sad puddles.
Love's vast sea cannot be emptied.
And springs of grace flow easily everywhere.
Where is nirvana?
Nirvana is here, nine times out of ten.
poem by Ho Xuan Huong
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