Eyes for A Lover

Đời em đã khép đi vội vàng
Tình ta cùng lấp lối thiên đàng
Như cánh chim khuất ngàn, như cánh chim khuất ngàn

Mắt Lệ Cho Người Tình, Từ Công Phụng

On the sleepless nights and the gramophone of old age and

pains and

tears and


keeps on pouring out these soft, sorrowful tunes into my ears,

I cry for your blue eyes.

Oh my darling, oh my darling, do you still remember,

the summer of the older days

when I caught the pair of blue eyes from your silky face

as you smiled at me like soft lace of love

spreading over a river of hate.

I say, Maybe we should be moving on.

You say, Wait, we still have time.

And that is enough, my darling, that is enough

for me to hold on,

to live,

to breathe,

to continue suffer from whatever they diagnose me with.

As I spend more days in the hospital,

the blue in your eyes grows a deeper shade of sadness and

the memory of us grows a fainter shade of love.

Eyes for my lover, I sing, I have eyes for my lover,

whose love I did not choose but rather,

was bestowed on me in raindrops of kisses and gentle caresses on skin;

whose life I borrow as a beggar on the street and as a beggar,

I don’t get to choose the life I get to pay back, somehow, some days.

What day is it, I lift a strand of hair from her brow

and tuck it behind her ear –

the hair that reflect back all the light of the sun

and the moon

and the star

and hopes.

Hush, she whispers, you don’t need to know what day it is,

she gently covers my eyes with her bony fingers.

Her nails painted pink, a shade that blooms little flowers on the tips.

Yes, I say, I don’t need to know.

She smiles at me, her gentleness falls in between

and everywhere.

Your eyes are so sad, I sing,

and we both are so sad.

I know, honey, I know.

And the next morning, she gets up,

she gets married.

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