I hold on tightly like a child hanging on to a rope
knotted onto a tree branch - the friction offering some hope;
that maybe if i cling tightly, love will remain the same
that maybe if i keep holding on, I save myself from the blame.
Holding on means nothing to the one on the other side;
holding on brings nothing but suffering and pride.
Letting go is allowing trees to shoot up to the sky,
for stars to shine brightly without a clear reason why.
Letting go is placing palms together, closing our eyes in prayer,
kneeling to god almighty, releasing lanterns anywhere.
Letting go is breathing in fragrance from the dried, autumn leaves.
It is the blooming of buds till the season of Christmas eve.
I let go softly of the thick rope that charred my hands
welcoming the sensation of freedom, of knowing where I stand.
I walk slowly to the horizon starting at the sun rising before me,
Never have I felt this emancipation, never have I felt this free.
Written at Cong Ca Phe, Cau Giay, Hanoi, Vietnam.