the poet is a prisoner of war
in the vernacular
noting the increasing number of poets
the vernacular needed
to build more and more prisons
at night. the poets paste stamps on their poems
carefully and surely putting on their helmets
ride to the post office
the stamps fading
since undefined are the colours in the dark
where a woman sat to sow back a shirt button
dropped by a poet…
her fingers
pushing the needle through a layer of undergarment
like the thoughts of poets
through paper
through the vernacular
through the borders of nations
into an anthem
resounding
like a promise
the day the poets set out for battle
fighting
returning as a prisoner
from a fragile
war
with words…
Source: A prison of war…[NF 1:10] – Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm


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