From Hanoi to Saigon

Through village and town,
Past sparkling rice fields and sunlit trees.
Past rivers and boats,
Plains and mountains.
Past people on bikes,
Past factories,
Through roaring, dark tunnels
And out into bright light.
Onwards and onwards,
Along the age-old track.
 
Then into the dark night,
The train rumbles loud.
Silhouettes of woods, trees, houses.
Distant pinpricks of light appear, 
Then drift away from view. 
Lights flash past.
The hypnotic sway and rock.
The clickety click, clickety clack,
Sends to sleep.
Sometimes hurried, sometimes slow,
The old diesel ox pulls,
Then rushes us on, on towards dawn.

A bowl of Phở, bánh mì and trà đá,
Accompanied by chat.
The sunbathed table,
Where countless travellers have sat.
Winding between mountains,
Over stone-arching bridges.
Cliffs tower high
And drop far below.
Past, and over, tumbling rivers
And streams that lead to the sea.
Blue sky, islands and ships.
Foaming white waves crash on golden sands.
The temperature heats and paddy fields green.
Palm trees line and dominate the scene. 
 
Stops at stations.
Journeys end and start.
Past communities and homes,
Temples, cemeteries, church spires and shrines.
A time to contemplate, reflect and to consider,
The lives that are living
And those who have gone.
My travel through time
And journey down south
Keeps going on.
Clickety click, clickety clack, clickety click…

Tread lightly on the journey you must go.
Soft the ripples that should flow.
Three-sixty look,
Judge not, just watch,
And you shall see.

© John Lester

Translation of the poem ‘Tread Lightly’, into Vietnamese and Nom (the ancient script of Vietnam)

Beyond All This.

Beyond all this. 
Beyond the fuss,
Beyond the rush,
There’s a place.
A place in mind.
A place I’ll find.
Kind to the memories
That want to linger on.
 
The boss, the bully,
The put-down,
Spur me on.
One day, all this will be gone.

© John Lester

Bluebell Woods

Look up through sun dappled bluebell woods 
As one amongst the trees.
Sweet Chestnuts’ slender boughs 
Stretch and sway.
Sky-high royal blue and cotton clouds.

 Blackbird song held in perfumed air,
Which, embracing distant past
With now and future,
Echoes with measured pause, 
A tune of perfect joy.

© John Lester