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's wreckage.
And he died while standing and shooting.
British blood sprayed in rainbow bullets.
Suddenly seeing him, the enemy panicked and surrendered.
There was a guy who fell at his feet to avoid the bullet.
Because you are dead but your courage remains
Still standing upright and firing
What is your name my love?
He still stood silent like a bronze wall.
Like the sandals under his feet stepping on American corpses
But still a simple, bright color
No picture, no address
He left nothing for himself before he left.
Leaving only the Vietnamese-standing 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 his standing posture in the middle of Tan Son Nhat runway
The Fatherland flies up into the vast spring
Miss 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 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 close
Like bamboo, coconut, like the village homeland.
Like people - so loving.
Oh childhood, we got drenched in the rain and bathed.
We wade freely on the river surface
I 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 lie 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 the storm is fierce
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 who founded 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 has stopped, like spring is gently rising.
See green on the green branches shining in the sun
Rain, oh rain, rain washes the young branches clean
Bringing spring with fresh sweet fruits.
Oh so happy can't see any bird
But the bamboo bank hears a fresh singing voice.
Whose house is that with the bustling rhythm of the pestle?
Make the raindrops on the leaves tremble.
*
The girls on the other side of the river are 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 trees in front of the gate.
Brown coconut roots, smooth and silky
The road is dry, the land is lush
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 have to go
Heavy backpack
Dreams and Youth
Dear school
Why do I suddenly remember?
From a golden autumn morning
The bell rang.
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 is broken.
Lips still smiling but eyes sad and silent
Lying on a book with my head on my pillow, 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, 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
Despite the heavy burden of hardship
Teaching where to read poetry
must be in the trenches
Math should be a collaborative space.
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
Go to "Prison Diary"
and “Leninism”
Let's go, on any road
Use small strength to build Thai Son temple of the Communist Party
Oh my beloved school and rows of trees
never stand still
Understand people's hearts before going far away
Keep a kind word
Willing to fight like communists
Even if blood is shed for the bright star flag
Hometown water
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 sip
Suddenly miss mom when sitting next to the basket of teapots
Strong guava juice
Sweet old story
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, the branches only see buds
Mother took 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
Cold months spread straw to make a nest to sleep
I sat and lit a fire by boiling water.
The buds of the seasons, mother will bloom again
A cup of warm water with the strong taste of Vietnamese medicine
But sip it and it's sweet on the tip of your tongue
I warm my hands under the hot cotton lid
Listen to the old story whispering
The nine-spurred chicken, the 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,
Last May, the guava trees in the garden ran 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 like my homeland's guava juice
Gun in hand, rice rolled on 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 childhood
- We must win over Son Tinh in the past!
I will come back with many promises
By the warm teapot, tell mother about her exploits
The scent of guava buds wafts from the house.
Author:ussh
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