Nguyễn Hữu Toàn
(hyper2002)
Member
Mundane
As I suddenly stumbl’ upon this verse
That arouses in me this unknown lust,
With inky hand, I reach for pieces of paper
And write gracefully as the fall of a feather.
But as muddy thoughts coming hither and thither
My head, in fear, shakes and titers
My nerves tensed, and my veins terse
My temple sweats, sweats fall – how tender!
Ah… thus ‘tis, ‘tis proves so much,
The poetic spirit, of such and such
(That no matter how willfully we resist)
Without aesthesis, poetry is humbug!
As I suddenly stumbl’ upon this verse
That arouses in me this unknown lust,
With inky hand, I reach for pieces of paper
And write gracefully as the fall of a feather.
But as muddy thoughts coming hither and thither
My head, in fear, shakes and titers
My nerves tensed, and my veins terse
My temple sweats, sweats fall – how tender!
Ah… thus ‘tis, ‘tis proves so much,
The poetic spirit, of such and such
(That no matter how willfully we resist)
Without aesthesis, poetry is humbug!