Take a breath Step away from the weight of weary mornings Take my hand and follow me through the bustle. Do you feel it? Do you see a shift? The incessant honking slows, the hum of traffic dies away Yes… This is Hồ Gươm at night.
Stroll around the quiet lake In the hush of a thousand footfalls, The water mirrors the city’s quiet pulse A sheet of glass stirred by the faintest ripple. Street lamps flicker on, glowing faintly against the pressing Humid Vietnam summer sky Their light diffused in a gentle mist. Wind carries a sharp, husky smoke aloft Lingering like an ancient prayer, sweet and deep. It seeps into your lungs, healing through your weary veins. This is Hồ Gươm at night—still and soft.
Over here—turn a corner There they sit, the line of old women Folded like withered lotus petals, they stare with their solemn starry eyes Hands scarred from years of turmoil hold out cheap plastic toys, wooden dragonflies— The soft sizzle and crunch of corn on coals. It is a language without words in their simple, ancient grace. The glow of streetlights catch their eyes, slow and knowing, Whispering lives lived in silence. They offer more than goods; they offer a piece of their world. Over here! Over here! This is Hồ Gươm at night—alive with stories.
Walk a little further, Hear it now? The thundering bass, the beat, the booming pulse Surging with energy and sweat, shaking every standing building. Sparkling lights slash the dull sky, ringing clear and loud. Spotlights bloom like wildflowers Painting the night in restless color, cutting through the deepening dark. There is no you here— There is only us. Only now. Lose your voice in the chorus of a thousand souls. Here is the center, the union, of every street. This is Hồ Gươm at night—the city’s heartbeat.
Just a bit more… Escape down this alley Follow the smell—sweet, spicy, sharp. Chipped neon signs sing for your attention They flash brighter than stars They dance above, engulfing you in a canvas of light. Tiny plastic tables and tiny plastic stools crowd the street like puzzle pieces Lime stings your tongue Chili burns your lips. Sit, elbows tight, beneath power lines sagging above A tangle of lives overhead; a web of imperfect grace Beautiful Beating Alive. Bold in the light’s embrace, This is Hồ Gươm at night—raw and real.
Dawn whispers over the still waters, The city sucks in a breath and hushes. The pulse of night fades, but light remains— Lingering, flickering A heartbeat that echoes beyond morning’s veins. This is a city that wakes at night When the sound of silence gives way to song, sweet and deep When its streets drown in city light. This is star city—the city that shines when the world is asleep.
Phuong Le