Vietnamese Stance
Author: Le Anh Xuan
He fell on the runway at Tan Son Nhat Airport.
But he struggled to his feet, leaning his rifle against the wreckage of the helicopter.
And he died while standing and shooting.
British blood spurted out in a shower of rainbow-colored gunfire.
Upon seeing him, the enemy panicked and surrendered.
One guy fell at his feet to avoid the bullets.
Because he is dead, but his courage remains.
Still standing firm, firing and advancing.
What is your name, my dear?
He remained standing motionless, like a bronze wall.
Like the sandals under his feet trampling on the corpses of Americans.
Yet it remains a simple, bright color.
Not a single picture, not a single address.
He left nothing for himself before he set off.
Leaving behind only the iconic Vietnamese stance etched into the century:
He was a soldier in the Liberation Army.
The English name has become the name of the country.
Oh, my Liberation Army soldier!
From the way he stood on the Tan Son Nhat runway.
The homeland soars high in the boundless spring.
Remembering the rain of my hometown
Author: Le Anh Xuan
My ancestral homeland
Years of separation
Tonight, I lie here listening to the rain fall.
I hear the distant sound of thunder...
Why do I feel such longing and affection?
Oh, the rain of my homeland!
It lulled my soul to sleep when I was a child.
Those budding loves have deeply touched my heart.
Listening to the sound of rain falling on banana leaves and coconut husks,
We see the sun rise after the rain stops.
We love each other so much, it feels like the first time we've ever known it.
We love the rain as much as we love something dear to us.
Like bamboo, like coconut, like the villages of my homeland.
Like human beings - so full of love.
Oh, childhood, we used to bathe in the rain.
We frolicked in the river's surface.
We dived down, listening to the distant sound of thunder.
Listening to the rain fall, the sound is warm and clear.
Oh, where have those childhood games gone?
Banana leaf boats, coconut shell huts
The first footprints of childhood
Those palm leaf mats are like boats.
The rain washed it away.
The rain flows down the river in my ancestral village.
The waves of my homeland surge and flow towards the open sea.
Carrying memories of the past, sinking deep into the four corners of the earth.
And our love grows into a vast ocean.
The gentle rain of our homeland where we lived
Today, the sound of this music stirs the hearts of a hundred rivers.
Oh, the rain of my homeland.
Rain is the melody of a gentle, soothing song.
On those nights, we lie listening to the rain sing, oh rain!
Listen to the rain beating against the bamboo branches, listen to the rain falling on the leaves.
Whispers and rustling sounds echoed far and wide...
Sometimes, suddenly, a fierce storm rages.
The rain poured down like a waterfall, coming from a hundred directions.
The old dream had lightning flashes and thunder roaring.
The school's small history book suddenly turned into a storm.
It sounds like the voice of our founding fathers.
The children and grandchildren must walk with their heads held high.
It sounds like the whispers of plants, wind, and rain.
Continuing to sing the indomitable song of ancient times...
The rain has stopped, and spring is gently dawning.
I see the vibrant green on the sun-drenched green branches.
Oh rain, rain, wash away the young branches.
Bringing forth the sweet, fresh fruits of spring.
Oh, I'm so happy I can't see any birds!
And the bamboo grove resounds with the sweet sound of birdsong.
In someone's house, the rhythmic pounding of pestles resounds.
Making the raindrops rustle on the branches and leaves.
*
The girls on the other side of the river are washing clothes.
Shaking off the water with my hand. Suddenly, a light rain shower fell.
Her arm, or a gentle breeze, carried her.
The bamboo branches tremble, and a light rain falls...
Oh, I love those coconut trees in front of the house!
The coconut root is brown, smooth, and has fine veins.
The road was dry, and the soil was a vibrant green.
Once you're in love, why do you suddenly feel even more in love...?
My homeland, after so many years of separation.
Tonight I lie listening to the rain fall.
I hear the distant sound of thunder...
Why does my heart ache so much...?
I want to go back to my grandparents' village.
I want to go back to my childhood.
I want to be laid to rest on the land of my ancestors.
Listen to the rain beating against the bamboo branches, listen to the rain falling on the leaves...
Oh, the distant thunder, suddenly roaring loudly...
Poet, former lecturer at the History Department, Hanoi University, Hero of the People's Armed Forces Le Anh Xuan. Died in the Tet Offensive of 1968, on the Saigon front.
The sun has risen.
Author: Nguyen Trong Dinh
The sun has risen.
We must leave.
Heavy backpack
Dreams and youth
My beloved school
Why do I suddenly remember?
From a golden autumn morning
The bell rang.
Feeling nervous about the first day of school.
Their steps were awkward and hesitant.
On windy winter afternoons
Load up your desk with books and notebooks for the exam.
Every minute of waiting felt incredibly long.
And also the sulking when the assignment failed.
Her lips still smiled, but her eyes were silently sad.
Lying with my head on a book, gazing at the stars.
Listen to the summer breeze gently singing with the pine trees.
Today we see a large team.
Before our people, we become soldiers.
Use your life experience as a weapon.
Aim directly at the enemy, launch a persistent attack.
Oh tomorrow
On the mountain slope, by the riverbank
Is it possible to forget those years?
passionate
Is it possible to forget?
Pages of life.
The Party taught us that at that time.
Teach people to stand tall and be good people.
Despite the heavy burden and hardship
Teach where to read poetry
It must be in the middle of the trenches
The place for doing math should be a collaborative playground.
From every joy
And also the concerns
The Party helped us find the truth.
The Party teaches us to understand a falling stone.
since the time of slavery
Go to "Prison Diary"
and "Leninism"
Let's go, no matter which path we take.
With my small strength, I build the temple of Mount Tai for the Communist Party.
Oh, my beloved school and its rows of trees!
never stand still
Do you understand people's hearts before you go away?
Keep your words to yourself.
We pledge to fight like communists.
Even if it means shedding blood for the glorious star flag.
Hometown herbal tea
Author: Nguyen Trong Dinh
In the old forest at night, I listen to the rain falling.
A single piece of straw cloak couldn't cover the whole body.
Water trickles across my lips, I sip it drop by drop.
Suddenly I miss my mother while sitting beside the basket of tea.
Strong, concentrated tea
Sweet memories of the past
Oh, how I miss those days!
That's our homeland garden.
The old, weathered Vối tree stands gray, exposed to sun and rain.
Each slender, mossy branch bears the imprint of childhood.
Next year, only buds will be visible on the branches.
My mother picked the ripe, golden buds and put them in a jar to ferment.
The dry, crispy seeds rustle in the gentle sunlight.
Then came the rainy season when the water overflowed the water jars at the base of the betel nut tree.
During the cold months, they spread straw to make a bed to sleep on.
He heated the rainwater in a pot, then sat down to light a fire.
The buds, accumulated over several seasons, my mother would then separate and brew.
A cup of warm water with a slightly pungent herbal taste.
But the taste lingers sweetly on the tongue.
The child warmed their hands under the hot cotton lid.
I hear whispers of old stories from years ago.
A rooster with nine spurs, a horse with nine red manes.
The girl next door secretly came over to eavesdrop.
Suddenly, the question became urgent: Did Son Tinh win or not?
Mom! Will our village have heavy thunderstorms tonight?
The strong, fragrant tea still lingers in the basket.
It's May now, and the crape myrtle trees in the garden have finished budding.
Does the girl next door still help her mother pick the fruit?
We walked through the deep forest in the pouring rain.
My heart still longs for the sweet taste of my hometown's herbal tea.
Gun firmly in hand, rice bundled at his side.
Following each other's footsteps, they pushed aside the ice.
Our country is still scarred by enemy bullets.
Urging us to hurry through the rain
Mother, please speak to the girl from her childhood.
- We must surpass Son Tinh of old!
I will return with so many promises.
Over a warm cup of tea, I recounted my mother's heroic deeds.
The faint scent of jasmine flowers wafts from the front of the house.
Author:ussh
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