đánh rắn không dập đầu
Striking the snake without crushing the head — the job left exactly unfinished enough to bite back.
All languages English Tiếng Việt
Where will you be? Anywhere Hà Nội & the NorthHuế / Đà Nẵng & the CenterSài Gòn & the SouthOnline slang Bắc ↔ Nam words
Striking the snake without crushing the head — the job left exactly unfinished enough to bite back.
to give away your position through rash actions; to alert someone of your presence unwittingly
to drum the beats of digression
Beat the drum, the bell resounds; pull the rattan, the forest shakes — no disturbance stays single.
Play the numbers and you'll live on the levee — gambling on lottery digits ruins house and home.
Wherever you land, follow the karma there — the traveler bends to each shore's terms.
Poking the rice sack, prodding the paddy sack — the go-between whose needle stitches quarrels.
Budding shoots and breaking buds — new growth; a fresh start full of promise.
The spear thrown, follow the spear — committed past retrieval, so commit.
The overcrowded corpse gets pushed outside — even death respects the shortage of room.
Diving head-first into the tiger's den — where the danger is is where he leapt.
having further hardship(s) stacked upon preexisting poverty
Once named husband and wife, though mountains tilt and rivers run dry, we do not part — the vow at continental scale.
Already bruised, and blackened on top — misfortune stacked on misfortune.
Once you've daubed, you must plaster — having begun, you're bound to see it through.
A gallbladder large, a heart small — daring in the deed, care in the planning.
No lamp outshines Sa Đéc's, no girl outshines Nha Mân's — up and down goes my fishing boat; love tears my gut, yet nearing her I tremble.
Lying all night without touching the bed, longing for dawn to walk out and meet her — insomnia, love's oldest symptom.
Lie awake at night and reckon it — a gambling husband is a house-wrecking demon — the wife's midnight arithmetic.
during May nights you can barely rest before the sun rises, and during October days you can barely have fun before it sets
Night after night I watch the Milky Way and the Dipper's handle — three years full; the stone wears down but this heart does not.
Rotten ferries collide — the failing knocking against the failing.
Ferries from Đông Ba past Đập Đá, from Vĩ Dạ straight to Ba Sình — a drifting moon, a far-off boat song heavy with love of country — Huế's rivers in one breath.
The carrying-spike sharp at both ends — the middleman who wounds both sides.
The carrying-stick sharpened at both ends — the go-between who pricks each party toward the other; duplicity as hardware.
One must remain decent and honorable in spite of hardship.
Hungry for rice, ragged of coat — destitution with no way out.
Racing in strength and racing in breath — rivalry down to the last lungful.
Hungry, I eat date-palm fruit and keep the rice for mother — her teeth are old and weak — filial piety at its plainest table.
Hungry, I eat half a sim-berry and drink half a bowl of water to go find my love — appetite deferred to longing.
Hungry or full, one wife one husband — a bowl of broken rice, and rich in play of heart; who fells the tree tears off the shoot? Anger passes, love returns.
Hunger breeds the desperate — courtesy is a fed virtue.
Hunger sets the knees crawling — feet learn to run and legs to go when the stomach commands.
Painted cakes for hunger, dreamt gold for wealth — comforts with no calories; the currency of illusion.
Hungry, eat greens; ailing, take medicine — each want has its own plain remedy; don't cross the prescriptions.
Hunger teaches the knees to crawl — necessity is the body's own instructor.
to shut the door and teach each other
We two meeting here: a starved ox finding fallow grass — hunger's luck, said with a grin.
We two herded buffalo together in patched brown-dyed shirts — may the rice take to the basket, the moon to the wind, and you to me.
We two are rice in the milk-ripe ear — matched in love, unmatched to our parents' liking; threads the elders spun thin, we spun thick.
We two are fire new-kindled, moon new-risen, lamp new-trimmed — everything at its brightest first hour.
We two are Phan and Trần of the old tale — a thousand leagues apart, then side by side.
We two are wine and fermented pork — mid-intoxication; let no one's whisper part us.
We two are little water-snakes — let the current run as it will, we hold each other up.
We two are a coin's two faces — heads, tails, tilted or flat, still one coin.
We two are a figure fresh-molded, a bell fresh-cast, a temple fresh-built — love in its unchipped first gloss.
We two love long and remember longer — as the river holds its water, as the mulberry branch holds the silkworm.
Clouds in the east, stars in the west — company on every horizon; a gathering in full assembly.
Many hands beat skilled ones — numbers out-produce virtuosity.
Silk in winter, rags in summer — provision perfectly out of season.
many large, bulky, and cumbersome items
The climb starts low, the journey starts near — no summit skips the foothills.
A kitchen spoon stirring a cauldron — the implement lost in the job's scale.
Frozen stiff — stunned into a blank stare, buffering like a crashed app.
Ridiculously easy — literally "as simple as joking around"; the two halves are nói lái of each other, which is the whole charm.
on one's own; by oneself
to take a pet to the vet
The orangutan guarding the tube — holding the container and missing the contents; possessive and outwitted.
The road is long and the horse gallops out of sight, but one bound by love returns though it take a hundred years.
The road is not hard for its rivers and mountains, but for the heart that fears them — the obstacle is in the traveler.