Thoang Thoảng Hương Xuân
ngày 11.01.26
Ngày tháng như thoi đưa
Người cũng già nhanh chóng
Như giọt sương vừa đọng
Trên đầu cành sáng nay
50 năm, mười sáu vạn ngày
Chuyện không thể nay đã là có thể
Chuyện có thể cho một thời dâu bể
Dẫu đã qua… Quay cổ lại bàng hoàng
Cùng với đất trời chào đón xuân sang
Mùa thay đổi chỉ thêm nhiều nuối tiếc
Nhìn rừng thông bạt ngàn, xanh biêng biếc
Nhìn lại mình… mùa Thu chín, vàng tay
Hỏi em tôi có hay
Mùa xuân về rồi đó
Cúc rực vàng trước ngõ
Em vẫn biền biệt xa
Còn tôi như cội mai già
Đón xuân cũng rán nở hoa cùng mùa
Dẫu còn tiếc nhớ hương xưa
Nhưng thôi đành cũng… cho vừa lòng em
Muốn hay không xuân đã tới bên thềm
Thêm mùa nữa còn được bao mùa nữa
Cứ phó mặc cho đồng tiền sấp ngửa
Xuân trên rừng… chờ trời đất đơm hoa
21 tháng 1, 2020
A Gentle Breath of Spring
days pass on like a weaver’s thread,
And we grow old more quickly than we know.
Like morning dew that rests a moment
On a budding branch at dawn, then goes.
Fifty years—one hundred sixty thousand days,
What once seemed distant has quietly come true.
The impossible became our lived-in life;
Looking back, we pause in stunned review.
With earth and sky we welcome spring again,
Each turning season deepening our sighs.
Pine forests spread in endless shades of green;
I turn inward—an autumn, ripened, gold-eyed.
I wonder, love, do you yet know
That spring has crossed the threshold now?
Chrysanthemums burn bright before the gate,
While you remain so far away somehow.
And I, like an aging apricot tree,
Still try to bloom when spring draws near;
Though old fragrances linger in the heart,
I let them go, to keep your heart clear.
Whether we wish or not, spring stands at the door.
How many such returns remain to me?
I leave it all to chance, to time’s slow turn—
In forested hills, spring waits for earth and sky to agree.
Lyric for musical
The days move on like woven thread,
We age before we ever know.
Like morning dew on budding limbs,
It rests—then fades with dawn’s soft glow.
Fifty years, long measured days,
What once seemed far now stands in view.
The impossible became our life;
I turn back, stunned by what was true.
With earth and sky I greet the spring,
Each season brings a quieter sigh.
The pine woods stretch in endless green;
I see myself—an autumn sky.
I ask you, love, can you still hear?
Spring stands again before the door.
Chrysanthemums burn by the gate,
While you remain so far once more.
And I, an aging apricot tree,
Still try to bloom when spring draws near.
Old fragrances remain awhile—
Then I let go, to keep you clear.
Spring comes whether we will or not.
How many turns are left to me?
I leave it all to time and chance—
Spring waits for earth and sky to agree.
….
Fifty years, long measured days,
What once seemed far now stands in view.
The impossible became our life;
I turn back, stunned by what was true.
With earth and sky I greet the spring,
Each season brings a quieter sigh.
The pine woods stretch in endless green;
I see myself—an autumn sky.
I ask you, love, can you still hear?
Spring stands again before the door.
Chrysanthemums burn by the gate,
While you remain so far once more.
And I, an aging apricot tree,
Still try to bloom when spring draws near.
Old fragrances remain awhile—
Then I let go, to keep you clear.
Spring comes whether we will or not.
How many turns are left to me?
I leave it all to time and chance—
Spring waits for earth and sky to agree.
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