Poems of Thi Lan Anh Tran (Aschaffenburg, Germany)

HALF-MOON OF A BROKEN FATE
Thi Lan Anh Tran
Aschaffenburg, Germany


On the full-moon night, moonlight fell beside the door,
A strange wind softly whispered your name once more.
You passed my gate with a fleeting smile,
And all my heart was lost within your eyes awhile.

Not for silver, nor for gilded grace,
But for the quiet beauty of your stance and face.
I thought our fragile love had just begun to bloom,
Who knew swift footsteps would lead us into gloom.

The dream still lingered on my lashes bright,
Yet you had vanished beyond the edge of sight.
Awakening, I learned what drifting means—
Longing turned to wind that wanders through my dreams.

If destiny was only mist and tide,
Why did time not let you stay beside?
I sit alone among these tangled sorrows deep,
The wine untouched—already gone, like sleep.

The flowers still wait upon the distant hill,
But you are far away… and the moon grows dim and still.



By the River Main
Thi Lan Anh Tran


Evening settles softly beside the River Main,
while Aschaffenburg fades into the hush of ancient towers.
Golden windows awaken behind a veil of mist,
and a slow-moving boat drifts onward
as though carrying a sorrow too fragile to name.

I stand upon the old stone bridge,
listening to the water pass through the heart of the city
the way time moves through a human life—
keeping nothing
except the words we never dared to speak.

Somewhere far away,
where monsoon rain still clings to bamboo roofs and narrow lanes,
someone is awake beneath another sky,
perhaps gazing upon their own river
and thinking of me
as I think of them tonight.

Between us
lie borders,
languages,
and different names for faith and homeland—
yet loneliness
speaks the same language everywhere.

The Main does not ask
who was born in the East
or who grew beneath European skies.
Its waters continue flowing past silent harbors,
past cafés still glowing in the night,
past the reflection of churches trembling upon the dark river.

And I have come to understand
that what keeps people close
is not the color of skin
nor the name of a country,
but the simple ability
to sit quietly and remember someone
standing at the farthest edge of the world.

Tonight,
church bells linger in the cold wind,
and perhaps where you are
the evening prayer has just begun beneath humid skies.
Those two sounds
are not opposed to one another—
they are merely searching for a path
through the darkness of this world.

If one day
you come to the River Main in the season of red leaves,
I will walk beside you along the riverbank
when the city begins to glow with light,
so you may see
that water, too, knows how to keep the secrets of love.

And then we will understand—
every river in this world
longs to reach the open sea,
just as the human heart, in the end,
longs only
to find its way toward another heart.





PURPLE EVENING OF LONGING
Thi Lan Anh Tran

My love, we stand apart at evening’s glow,
How long until our love can fully grow?
We’ve waited long through every silent day,
No need to speak of all the pain we say

The promises we made still linger on,
As twilight deepens when the light is gone,
Our love once felt like dreams that softly stay,
Now distance keeps our hearts so far away

This separation has been long and deep,
A restless heart with wounds it cannot keep,
I hope that salt and bitter trials of time
Won’t fade the flame of love so pure and prime

If fate allows us to cross paths again,
Then let our love endure beyond the pain,
If not, then still within my heart you’ll be
A quiet song of love and memory.



LOVE IN THE AGE OF PRICE TAGS
Thi Lan Anh Tran

Love now
campaigns like politicians—
every glance carries its own strategy,
every vow
waits for a sponsor.

In brightly lit cafés,
people choose each other
the way they choose life packages:
who owns a car,
who lives above the city lights,
who is lonely enough
to pay generously for affection.

A girl says:
“I only want someone sincere.”
Yet her eyes linger
a little too long
on the watch around his wrist.

A young man swears
he loves with all his heart—
then quietly asks his friends
what salary
is respectable enough for marriage.

Once, people wrote love letters.
Now,
love arrives through bank transfers,
through dinners tagged with locations,
through expensive bouquets
photographed before they wilt.

Strange, isn’t it—

those rich in tenderness
often lose
to those rich in symbols.
A sincere embrace
cannot compete
with a winter holiday in Europe.

People say:
“Do not be practical in love.”
Yet when life’s storms arrive,
money
becomes the first umbrella opened.

So there are romances
purchased with sweetness,
others
paid in installments through gifts,
and hearts
carefully appraised
like property in the center of a city.

Then one day,
two people lie beside each other
inside a perfectly furnished room,
while the distance between them
stretches farther than two ends of a nation.

Because what is missing most
is not money—
but the feeling of being loved
without having to prove one’s worth.

And still, people continue to love.
Even knowing many tender words
are written in the ink of advantage,
many handshakes of affection
already carry hidden conditions.

Perhaps because in this age,
love is no longer entirely free—
yet somewhere deep within,
everyone still hopes
for someone
who will remain
after the wallet, the beauty,
and the final glittering illusions
have all departed.


©®Thi Lan Anh Tran
Aschaffenburg, Germany
All Rights Reserved.