brewing

the mid-twenties: one long caffeinated haze
between overpriced lattes, busted coffee machines, and transitional craze

half-packed cardboards like dreams on pause
we haul our lives without a cause

ambition in foams and burnout in grinds
milky hopes stirred in bitter designs

but somewhere there’s space, there’s light
where a good blend softens the edge just right

here’s to the move, and to the jittery crew
new desks, same grind, perhaps with more clues

clean, hot, generous – coffee flows like ideas in the morning
’cause sometimes, changes brew better things

Hà Nội, 6/2025

measures of time

at first, time was a hesitant ring of the doorbell
the lavish dinners I was only picking at
time felt endless like the parties we had
and stayed stuck in the playlists I didn’t get

time crept in, as did the extended daylight
time filled up the bin with things that had no other outlets
time was your tees in rotation till laundry day
then your black sweater thrown on any of my outfits

time evaporated in tea steam and forgotten cigarettes
and froze in two hundred photos of wide grins and unslept nights
time offered no answers, just questions lingered
then flew by,
just like the plane that took me away

Hà Nội, 3/2024
–
started this right after I left, but only finished it today
to the day we met, precisely one year ago

on graduation

when once lunch pals gather in the grand auditorium
and the tutor waves and smiles from the stage
we laugh at the jokes of the old man on the podium
and grin even wider as we celebrate

when academic stress becomes anxiety about walking the stage
and cameras are no longer for assignments, just for the feed
we did great, and will now turn the page
people will know that we care, as life’s adventures greet

when home becomes just another moldy room for rent
and people continents away become home
across the oceans, love and wisdom are sent
the echoes of laughter find us wherever we may roam

when “let’s meet this weekend” becomes “remember when”
and “see ya tomorrow” becomes “may our paths cross again”
our time here ended right where it was meant
but it’s the company that made it all not vain

Brighton-Hà Nội, 1/2024

would you like some chai?

the bubbling milk foam embraces
the soft scent of a new day
my legs curled up under the duvet
hands clasping the rising smoke

the silence of unspoken words
steeped in the chai’s pleasing flow
hassle might face us tomorrow
but for now, still here we sit down

with a spoonful of sweetness
in a cup of no worries
words of love, like an old tale
and chai, a smooth warm hug

smoke swirls around the mug
as do your lips, around mine
we brew tea, and light the cigarette’s glow
as the day gently unfolds

Hà Nội, 10/2023
–
this piece was originally written in Vietnamese

Sundays

we would still be lying down by midday
giggling about the fun we had last night
and the night before,
and the night before

I sniff,
today smells fresh:
ciggies rolled, coffee brewed, you doused,
all savored in bed

we stay behind this wall of secrets
that have nonetheless been given away
by the telling sounds from one side
and the deafening silence from the other;
that will always have us snicker

at some point we will get up
travel across the city for an ice cream tub
idly waiting for tomorrow
when the same old routine begins anew

TP. Hồ Chí Minh, 6/2023

function of a playground

a spot for occasional daytime pickup
and most often for midnight strolls
a place to walk off the one-liter ice cream tub
and wrap up thoughts inside a roll

hiding behind the cloud of smoke
huddling together against the cold
sipping on a Kopparberg or a Coke
passing as playful 16-year-olds

on a bench to watch friends and neighbors
both those cast off and newcomers
the things we see, the things we saw
dangling in our heads after a ride on the spinner

blasting speaker wouldn’t cause an uproar
and there’s no pain even when free falling
we tread and plunge and mark our colors
on this blue chunk of rubber padding

to Northfield 13
–
Hà Nội, 6/2023

the morning after

in the kitchen a burning smell lingers
maybe it was the kheer
or something else that simmered
longer than just one afternoon

the big pot sits still on the table, empty and spotless
barely a trace of the mess that brewed
as we laid down our bags and sipped chai
inhaled the aroma and swallowed our pride

I used to believe food was a love language
I still do – only with a poignant reminder
that onto your plate the gravy is not always gently poured
sometimes it scalds with searing steam

I wish it was Thursday so the cleaner would come today
instead I’ll spend time scrubbing the stains away
trying to unlearn that the hand that feeds
can be the hand that hits

but for breakfast today you want eggs
and I want something to keep myself preoccupied

Brighton, 4/2023
–
edited 5/2024

flickers

from where we are
it flames just once, in several flickers

fire spreads from where we embrace
and from the ground it floats to space
we are only sure about the clouds

in this hazy state
I wish you will never leave
from where I just am once

for things that happen just once
will prove that life is but
a series of absurd flickers

Brighton, 3/2023

fear

fear used to look like a sheikh
or any large bearded man in a long thawb
his mustache looking like two airplane wings

fear took the form of a huge eagle tattoo spreading
across the chest, accompanied by long hair
seemingly unwashed

fear was violent lashes,
foreign grounds, and names I could barely pronounce

but now fear is walking by English pubs with my British Mauritian Tinder date, waiting to find out
what the drunk white men tonight will shout
ni hao at me (a Vietnamese, by the way)
or namaste and go cut your dirty hair at him

fear is me and my Muslim dude not knowing
what and where we will be when our visa expires
so we’ll just roll a smoke and stare through the vapor

fear permeates tonight’s dining table
of you and your friends, all with unfair skin colors
gathering for some destressing, yet dreading
one of you might leave the country tomorrow after the major layoffs

the most terrifying stuff, after all,
are fears that go undiscussed

Brighton, 3/2023
–
written for my Race, Culture and the Media class

Stranger from the Internet

I’m just a stranger from the Internet
Who lives 1.8 kilometers away
Who shows up at your door like an uninvited guest
And feeds you strange food every other day

I’m just a stranger from the Internet
Who messes up your sleeping schedule
Who occupies half of your bed
After a ride that wastes your fuel

I’m just a stranger from the Internet
Who loves your crinkling eyes as you grin
Who randomly throws your name into every chitchat
Then cries my eyes out when I’m left on seen

I’m just a stranger from the Internet
Who finds you so achingly familiar
So gentle and mellow, the bestest of the best
Even potential, mayhaps, of being a keeper

So tell me, stranger from the Internet
Can you just stop being a stranger?
But if that is too much of a request
You will still be my favorite one ever.

Maastricht, 1/2019
–
the breakup poem that took me so many tears