Status Updates From The Secret of Hoa Sen

I can't explain this but poetry in English doesn't make a big impact on me. It's like for my brain Polish is the default language for poetry. There are exceptions as usual, though

We make our way through a narrow lane,
try and fit our bodies perfectly into each other in the darkness,
try and fit our lips perfectly into each other to carry us through
the winter.
My scarf wraps around the wind; I wrap around you.
Inside of night the sun flows; inside of day, the moon.
You flow inside of me,
and swallow all my thoughts whole.
You put the moon into my palm.
I open my eyes after the kiss

It has taken me half my life,
to understand that my father’s gaze, his smile and his silence
are my most precious inheritance.
I can now read his thoughts
alive behind his simple faded shirt,
love overflowing, choking his heart,
the love he dedicates to me,
that sweetens the rivers in the scorching season.
I stand before the field that my father sowed,
listening to green lives rise under the earth.

The aroma of Hưng Yên just coming into being,
the lotus of West Lake
just coming into blood, Vòng village
restless to produce
the green young sticky rice.
They carry to me the fresh breeze from their village
where their mothers, children, and husbands stand waiting,
where dreams are thirsty, and struggle.