tam tinh hien dang 08

TAM TINH HIEN DANG
08

Ngon den ben giuong dang dan tat
toi thuc giac trong tieng chim hot som
Toi den ngoi.. ben o cua so mo
Vong hoa tuoi tren mai toc buong loi

Chang lu khach tre thong dong ben duong
Trong lan suong tuoi moi buoi som mai
Co chang mang chuoi hat anh ngoc
Tia nang som vuong tren mai toc chang

Chang dung lai truoc cua nha toi
Cat tieng hoi voi loi tha thiet.. "Gio nay nang o dau? "...
Toi boi roi khong the nao buong tieng...
“Chang lu khach tre oi.. Nang la em.. la em ”...

Hoang hon da dan buong.. den van chua thap sang
Toi than tho van lai mai toc...

Chang lu khach tre vua den tren co xe...
Trong nao nuc vang ruc mat troi lan
Nhung chu ngua tham met bot mep trang xoa
Cat bui duong xa phu tren ao quan chang

Chang buoc xuong truoc cua nha toi
Cat tieng hoi voi giong moi met.. "Gio nay nang o dau? "...
Toi nguong ngung khong the nao buong tieng...
“Hoi chang lu khach si tinh.. Nang la em.. la em ”...

Dem do.. dem thang tu cuoi xuan
Ngon den phong toi toa sang khat khao
Lan gio phuong nam em ai dịu dang tran den
Con vet hay hot da ngu ngoan trong long

Ao lot toi mac co mau long con cong
Ao choang ngoai xanh mau xanh co non
Toi ngoi tren san ben o cua.. ngam con duong hoang vu
Xuyen man dem sau tham.. toi ngan nga nguyen cau...

“ Hoi chang lu khach tuyet vong.. Nang la em.. la em ”..... 💕

*Tho Cu Tagore.. Albert Pho dich tu ban tieng Anh.

Bai so 08
Tam Tinh Hien Dang (Trich tu: The Gardener )

When the lamp went out by my bed I woke up with the early birds.
I sat at my open window with a fresh wreath on my loose hair.

The young traveller came along the road in the rosy mist of the morning.
A pearl chain was on his neck, and the sun’s rays fell on his crown.

He stopped before my door and asked me with an eager cry, “Where is she?”
For very shame I could not say, “She is I, young traveller, she is I.”

It was dusk and the lamp was not lit.
I was listlessly braiding my hair.

The young traveller came on his chariot in the glow of the setting sun.
His horses were foaming at the mouth, and there was dust on his garment.

He alighted at my door and asked in a tired voice, “Where is she?”
For very shame I could not say, “She is I, weary traveller, she is I.”

It is an April night. The lamp is burning in my room.
The breeze of the south comes gently. The noisy parrot sleeps in its cage.

My bodice is of the colour of the peacock’s throat, and my mantle is green as young grass.
I sit upon the floor at the window watching the deserted street.
Through the dark night I keep humming, “She is I, despairing traveller, she is I.”

#Tagore Albert Pho #tuanpm

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