Nguyễn Văn Thiện | DEMENTIA (20)


By Nguyễn Văn Thiện, translation by Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm 


You wake up one day, with a broken mind. You read about such things but never believed it. You’re full of doubts, you know after every cloud there’s another, and each bout of wind swallows the other. When you discover that you no longer know our place, because you’ve found after forty years in the same skin covering the same meat and bone, vaguely that, when the mind is gone, you are gone!

Momentarily, a thunder of dragons is raiding your mind like a string of wild horses, with absolutely no image of a past. A hurtful past, you could barely remember, could such sadness leave no mark?

You saw yourself walking on snow in a Cossack. The mead had turned cold, but a flame ignited within you? In revenge, you cut your stomach open, exposing all that gut-wrenching…

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