- Warszawska Jesień Poezji (Warsaw Autumn of Poetry)
- Światowe Dni Poezji UNESCO (UNESCO World Poetry Days)
- Międzynarodowy Listopad Poetycki (International Poetic November) in Poznań
- Tarptautinis Festivalis Poezijos Pavasaris (International Festival Spring of Poetry), Vilnius, Lithuania
- Theatre production 'I Miasto przemówiło' (And The City Spoke) in England, Poland and Italy
- 'Poeci bez Granic' (Poets Without Borders) International Festival in Polanica
He has published in many periodicals, papers, Polish and foreign anthologies of poetry.
He is a laureate of UNESCO World Poetry Days (2006) and a member of Association of Vietnamese Writers.
He has published two volumes of poetry: 'Echo' (Polska Oficyna Wydawnicza, 2004) and 'Doi' ('Expecting', Culture and Information Publishing House in Hanoi).
Spring
Spring... Spring...
Do you do that springy dance, or is it spring?
Spring space with music filled
Wrapped in greens as waves of breakers
Hit my windows.
You – a wave at dawn self-wrapped in sunshine
Shake me up in spring from winter’s sleep
And all the worries hide beneath the green of grass
Spring… Spring…
In one short night all nature
Sky and earth with you explode in green
Spring... Spring...
Warsaw, First Day of Spring 1993
Mother’s Wanderings
She leaves with the sign of the morning star
Returns with the burden of mist on her shoulders
And I, who have crossed over half of this Earth
Have not yet begun to compete with Her run.
In waiting
Wind blows slowly rising
Falls a swift caress for leaves of grass.
I do not feel like playing with the wind
While I wait for you, distressed.
Echoes of Dreams
Random rocks refract the wave
The white foam lingers.
Loneliness intrudes upon my heart
The whole world’s longing gathered in it.
A new wave mixes foam and falls away
The longing keeps its hold within the heart.
I sit there on the island like a saucer
Rocking on a sea of tears
My tears that never dry.
The island is the witness
Isolation overfills my soul
Until it can take nothing in
It can no longer give.
The island is a boat, thrown on the ocean
Sails in circles, cannot reach the shore.
I ride on wave back, an imprisoned sailor
of desires, to send them to a shore,
A shore from which
Only the echoes of my dreams return.
Majorca, Autumn 1999
Drought and flood
Dedicated to the mothers in the centre of Vietnam
Sun cuts earth to strips
Rain bombards my heart a thousand drops
Drought burns eyes of mothers
Flood flows from my tears.
Warsaw, Autumn 1997
Thinking
The sun’s attack does not completely
rinse away the blackness of the night
but tears it into fragments for the day.
And shadows of our people and things cast
are broken pieces of the world of dark.
You and me
If you are a blank sheet
I become your poem.
Time may turn a page,
The well of poetry is eternal.
You are a field heavy with rice
And I a dam about you
You are unharmed by any flood
The field sings with harvest scent.
I, a summer morning fired with sun
You the red of Phuong tree petals.
We with hearts aflame from longing
Burning from the thirst to meet.
My sail by the Hoi mouth
Awaits your favourable wind.
To sail horizon’s endlessness
Your singing voice comes back with echo song.
Hoi Mouth, Autumn 1996
Untitled
From whom could autumn leaves escape.
Cold the wind that blows within my soul.
A tired horse stopped upon an ancient road.
Bewildered sun lights up the white horizon.
Wanderer
Under skies of grey, birds glide on tired wings
In far twilight a small bent figure walks the river bank
Uncertain in the bitter wind. Autumn spares no gales.
Nor pain to leaves. The withered fall.
Warsaw, Autumn 1997
A thread of heart
On the hills white cracked dry earth.
Burning sun harms not the olive bud
Orange orchards ripen in the valley
Bending hard to hands of men
Green combs of palms groom sun rays in the morning
As love remembers violet bougainvillea
Water in the Bay a mirror
In clouds above the sea, a tangled thread of heart
In endlessness of water somewhere lonely isles
Like I, without you, in the ocean of our life
Majorca, 1999
Untitled
Foolish night – too early wants to greet the dawn
Foolish the day – too early falls with evening dew.
I hear Time’s laughter, when I look close at my hair
To ask where are the old-time dreams?
Untitled
Autumn afternoon we walk out in the sun
On older paths we count bird’s trills
Past times come back to me with dreams
From which I’m woken by the Temple bell.
White flowers
Can you remember clusters of the small white flowers
That flower upon our childhood path?
On such a path of small white flowers
We find ourselves so often in a dream...
Garden by moonlight
Gently scented flowers of palm
In delicate breaths of wind
Shy shadow of apricot hiding by the wall.
I do not know! You or the moon.
You leave my heart as evening dew...
