Poems of Trần Thị Lan Anh (Aschaffenburg, Germany)

The Old Sunlit Wharf
Trần Thị Lan Anh
(Aschaffenburg, Germany)


Now the sun stands still at noon,
as if time itself has not yet learned to move.
Something lingers within the void,
and the earth turns quiet beneath human forms.

The river flows—slow, full, and empty,
small boats scattered like tangled echoes of the past.
Evening touches rain and fading light,
gliding over waters that seem half-asleep.

A dress drifts endlessly in the wind,
like a memory softly calling out a name from long ago.
The village road carries distant traces,
of footsteps that have already left the silence of life.

A woman stands within stillness,
yet even the wind seems to find its way back to her heart.
One touch upon the riverbank’s shadow,
and everything dissolves into faraway sunlight.



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Two Eras of War
Thi Lan Anh Tran


In the fields of yesterday, no one remains to retell the story.
B-52s carved the sky like passing lightning scars.
Napalm fell as a silent red flame,
and ancient forests turned into nameless memory.

A soldier walked through the rain of industrial fire.
War then was as vast as a sky torn open.
No need to see each other’s faces to understand pain;
the earth trembling was enough to mark the loss.

That generation lived in smoke and iron.
War was the roar of colossal machines.
Humanity reduced within a spiral of destruction,
every road leading back to a wound.

Then time shifted the color of battle lines.

Now there are no forests burning from falling bombs,
but skies filled with invisible gazes.
Drones move like cold thoughts through the air,
touching each other through silent networks.

War is no longer an industrial roar,
but data, signals, coordinates.
A silent command sent from far away,
and a target disappears within seconds.

Russia and Ukraine—
not only land, rivers, or borders,
but a race of algorithms and production,
where war is “optimized” day by day.

One side shaped by the steel and smoke of the past,
the other by a drifting web of the present.
And between these two eras, no clear boundary remains,
only a quieter form of human suffering.

In the past, war required thousands of footsteps.
Today, it requires thousands of signals.
Yet the outcome remains unchanged:
the earth still fractures, and human beings still fall.

And in the silence of two centuries of weapons,
one question has never been answered:

When technology approaches perfection,
can humanity still stand outside of war?



Copyright © Thi Lan Anh Tran. All rights reserved.






Borrowed Half a Line of Poetry
Trần Thị Lan Anh


I borrow from you a half-lined verse,
you send me back a moonlit universe.
At the village gate, the wind runs low,
coconut blossoms fall in silent snow.

I ask for just a trace of fire,
you give me all your whispered desire.
Along the red dirt road I see,
a soul that waits so patiently.

I borrow eyes of deep blue fire,
you guard my vow, my quiet desire.
And if one day I lose my way,
don’t forget the one who chose to stay.

My words drift out across the night,
you turn them into harbor light.
Though storms may break and skies may fall,
our homeland love still warms it all.



Copyright © Trần Thị Lan Anh. All rights reserved.




Nr. 130 OLD SUNLIT WHARF
Trần Thị Lan Anh

Now midday sun stands still and high,
As time forgets to pass it by.
Something lingers in empty space,
The earth reflects a human face.

The river flows both slow and wide,
A faded boat, a drifting tide.
Afternoon brushes light and rain,
Across old waters lost again.

A dress is carried through the wind,
Like memories that call and spin.
The village road in silence lies,
Where fading footsteps bid goodbye.

A woman stands in quiet grace,
The wind returns her heart’s own place.
One touch of shore, one distant gleam,
Becomes a vanished, endless dream.


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Silent Waves

Trần Thị Lan Anh


In the early days of meeting you,
I was like a lake untouched by wind,
unable to name even the faintest ripple within me.

Night would fall, and sleep drifted in peace—
no dreams returning,
no shadow of a face I once knew.

The moon rose as it always does,
yet not enough to stir a single tremor in my heart.

Dawn opened a silent horizon,
sunlight passing through memories already sealed away.
Evening came, and the wind was only wind—
carrying nothing of longing.

I stood within my own stillness,
neither searching, nor waiting,
nor calling out for anyone who crossed my path.

If love had ever existed,
it was only like a passing cloud
across an endless sky—
arriving softly, then dissolving without a trace.

Distances, however wide,
no longer reach the place within me.

I walk through my life
with quiet, steady steps—
not rebuilding the past,
not seeking what has already gone.


Copyright © Trần Thị Lan Anh