THE WAITING PIER By Thi Lan Anh Tran

THE WAITING PIER

By Thi Lan Anh Tran

Aschaffenburg, Germany

At dawn, the quiet river flows,

A little boat by the waiting shore goes.

The bamboo banks are kissed by dew,

While distant roosters call the morning through.

The jasmine bloom you wore that spring,

Still leaves its fragrance on everything.

I gaze beyond the mulberry field,

Knowing the road my fate must yield.

The bridge ahead, the winds and rain,

Will carry me through joy and pain.

Though many paths may call my name,

My homeland’s voice remains the same.

The river never speaks a word,

Yet waves repeat what hearts have heard.

Their gentle songs, so deep and true,

Carry the love I leave with you.

My mother packs my noon-day rice,

With chili, pickles, simple and nice.

She says, “Though life may not be bright,

Keep your soul pure, keep your heart’s light.

“Remember always the earth you know,

The village sounds where your roots still grow.”

I smile to hide my tears inside,

With a small bag upon my side.

You do not ask me to promise more,

Nor speak of words we said before.

You only whisper, soft and clear:

“Remember the peaceful things held dear.

“Remember the areca trees by the door,

The sparrows dancing on the roof once more.

Remember the fields of golden grain,

The scent of straw after winter rain.

“Remember when the river rose high,

The little boat waited beneath the sky.

It never left, it never fled,

It stayed where countless memories spread.

“Remember me, not for youth’s embrace,

But for the road we shared in grace.

For love is not the bloom of spring—

It is the home our hearts still bring.”

I leave beneath the fading sun,

While your shadow follows the road I run.

The wild grass clings around my feet,

As if to hold our vows complete.

A falling flower rides the breeze,

And drifts upon the silent seas.

You watch until I disappear,

Only my floating hat remains near.

The evening paints the village sky,

Smoke from warm kitchens slowly rises high.

You sit beneath the old porch light,

Listening to birds depart the night.

The fire glows, but feels alone,

The cooked rice waits beside the stone.

Your heart has followed far away,

Beyond the fields where shadows stay.

The moon rests on the xoan tree’s branch,

White mist covers the village path.

You carry our promise through the years,

Folded beneath your hat like hidden tears.

And though tomorrow takes me far,

Beyond the roads beneath each star,

The old waiting pier will forever be—

The place where someone waits for me.

________________________________________

© Copyright © 2026

Author: Thi Lan Anh Tran

Aschaffenburg, Germany

All rights reserved.