An early morning in the field,
as being vague about all passionate things,
I travelled a thousand miles away just
to have a crush on an orange tree.
That orange tree scented the strange city.
I wanted to dive myself off a cliff
I kissed a stranger in mirrors
I chased my own trail and re-established
the order of morals for emotions.
I chose the ideal of known things
I chose the calamitous return
I chose to diverge from my orange tree
in an afternoon within the blue sea.
Then I suffered from nostalgia
right after the moment I was with my old dear beings.
The orange tree, which I am still in love with,
from faraway just smiled and sang:
‘những chiếc muỗng bạc
gọi tên sợi mì
are you being constructed
as you lost your heart to a tree?’
In the shade of my beloved orange tree,
cats are making love.