Poems imbued with a time of blood and fire

Vietnamese posture

Author: Le Anh Xuan

He fell on the runway of Tan Son Nhat.
But he forced himself to stand up and lean his gun on the helicopter wreckage.
And he died while standing and shooting.
British blood sprayed in rainbow bullets.
Suddenly seeing him, the enemy panicked and surrendered.
A guy fell at his feet to avoid the bullets.
Because you are dead but your courage remains
Still standing upright and firing to attack
What's your name my love?
He still stood silent as a bronze wall.
Like the sandals under his feet stepping on so many American corpses
But still a simple, bright color
Not a picture, not a line of address
He left nothing for himself before leaving.
Leaving only the Vietnamese posture carved into the century:
He is a soldier of the Liberation Army.
Your name has become the name of the country
Oh Liberation Army!
From your standing posture in the middle of Tan Son Nhat runway
The Fatherland flies up into the vast spring

Missing the rain of my homeland

Author: Le Anh Xuan

My hometown
Years apart
Tonight, I lie listening to the rain fall
Hear the distant roar of the sky...
Why do I feel so nostalgic?

Oh my homeland rain
Lulled my soul to sleep when I was a child,
The budding love has permeated my heart.
Listen to the sound of rain falling on banana leaves and coconut leaves,
See the sun rise when the rain stops.
I love you so much like the first time I knew you
I love rain like I love something intimate
Like bamboo, coconut, like the village homeland.
Like people - so much love.
Oh childhood, we bathed in the rain.
We wade happily on the river surface
We dived down, hearing the distant thunder
Listen to the rain falling, the sound is warm and clear.

Oh where are the games of youth?
Banana and coconut leaves, small huts
The first footprints of childhood
The areca leaves are the boats.
The rain washed it away.
Rain flows down the river of my hometown
The waves of the homeland flow to the sea,
Carrying old memories, sinking to the four corners of the world.
And we grow up in love, the sea is wide open
The little rain of our homeland has lived
Now my heart shakes a hundred rivers,
Oh my homeland rain.
Rain is the music of a cool song.
The nights we lay listening to the rain sing oh rain
Listen to the rain hitting the bamboo branches, listen to the rain falling on the leaves,
Whispering and rustling in the distance...

Sometimes suddenly there is a fierce storm
The rain poured down like a waterfall in a hundred directions.
The old dream had lightning and thunder,
The small history of the school suddenly turned into a storm.
Sounds like the voice of our ancestors building the country,
Teach your children to walk tall
Listen like the words of trees, wind and rain.
Continuing to sing the indomitable song of the past...

The rain stopped, like a gentle spring.
See green on the green branches shining in the sun
Rain oh rain, rain washes clean the young branches
Bring spring sweet and delicious fruits.
Oh so happy can't see any bird
But the bamboo bank hears a fresh singing voice.
Whose house is that bustling with the rhythm of the pestle?
Make the raindrops on the leaves tremble.
*
The girls on the other side of the river were washing clothes.
Hands shaking water. Suddenly a small shower
Her arm or the gentle wind
The bamboo branches shake, a small rain falls...
Oh, I love the coconut rows in front of the gate.
Brown coconut roots, smooth and silky veins
The road is dry, the land is lush and green
Already in love but suddenly feel more in love...
Oh homeland, so many years apart
Tonight I lie listening to the rain fall,
Hear the distant roar of the sky...
Why does my heart ache...
I want to go back to my hometown
I want to go back to childhood
I want to lie on the land of my ancestors
Listen to the rain hitting the bamboo branches, listen to the rain falling on the leaves...
Oh, the thunder from afar, suddenly roared loudly...

Poet, Former lecturer of the Faculty of History, Hanoi University of Science, Hero of the People's Armed Forces Le Anh Xuan. Died in the 1968 Mau Than campaign, at the Saigon front.

The sun has risen

Author: Nguyen Trong Dinh

The sun has risen

We must go

Heavy backpack

Dreams and Youth

My dear school

Why do I suddenly remember?

From a golden autumn morning

Jingle bells.

Excited on the first day of class

The steps are also shy and awkward.

Windy winter afternoons

Fill the table with books for the exam

Every minute of waiting seems so long

And all the sulking when the lesson fails `

Lips still smiling but eyes sad and silent

Lying on a book with my head on it, watching the stars

Listen to the summer wind singing softly with the casuarinas.

Today we look at a great team

Before the people we become soldiers

Use your life knowledge as a weapon

Aim straight at the enemy and attack persistently.

Oh tomorrow

On the mountain slope, river bank

Can I forget the years?

passionate

Can never forget

pages of life

The Party taught us then

Teach to stand up straight and be human

Though the shoulders are heavy with hardship

Teaching where to read poetry

must be in the trenches

Math should be a collaborative field.

From every joy

And all the worries

The Party has helped us find the truth.

The Party teaches to understand a falling stone

from slavery

To "Prison Diary"

and “Leninism”

Let's go, on any road

Use your small strength to build Thai Son temple for the Communist Party

Oh my beloved school and rows of trees

never stand still

Understand people's hearts before going far away

Keep a warm word

Willing to fight like communists

Even if blood is shed for the bright star-studded flag

Hometown guava juice

Author: Nguyen Trong Dinh

Old forest night listening to the rain fall

A piece of raincoat can not cover the whole body

Water flows through the lips, sip by drop

Suddenly remembering mother while sitting next to the tea basket

Concentrated guava juice

Sweet old stories

Oh how I miss you,

That is our homeland garden.

The old guava tree is faded by sun and rain

Every skinny branch bears the mark of childhood.

The holy year comes and the branches only see buds.

Mother picked up the ripe buds and put them in vinegar to ferment.

Crispy dry seeds in the small sunlight rustle

Then the rainy days filled the jar with water at the areca tree root

In the cold months, spread straw to make a nest to sleep.

I sat down to make a fire by heating up the rainwater.

The buds of the seasons, mother will bloom again

A cup of warm water with the strong taste of Vietnamese medicine

But every sip leaves a sweet taste on the tip of the tongue

I warm my hands under the hot cotton lid

Listen to the old story whispering

Nine-spurred chicken, nine-red-haired horse

The neighbor girl secretly came over to eavesdrop.

Suddenly asked: Did Son Tinh win or not?

Mom! Tonight our hometown has heavy rain and thunderstorms.

The strong tea is still strong in the basket,

It's May, the guava trees in the garden are all out of buds

Does the neighbor girl still help her mother pick?

We walked through the deep forest in pouring rain.

My heart still tastes sweet with the taste of my homeland's guava juice

Gun firmly in hand, rice rolled on the side

Follow each other's footsteps to push the ice tree forward.

Our country is still plowed by enemy bullets

Urging us to walk quickly in the rain

Mom please speak for the girl of my childhood

- We must win over Son Tinh in the past!

I will come back with many promises

By the warm teapot, I tell my mother about her exploits.

The scent of guava buds wafts from the house.