A collection of six-line verses about the homeland.

Newborn
Picking up fragments of the autumn moon

Kites carry the wind across the village fields.
Carrying the askew sunset across my shoulders in the evening.
The world is bathed in the slanting sunlight.
The cows stopped grazing as the evening shadows rolled across the rolling grass.

The village nestled amidst the full moon.
So the crescent moon still shines gently in autumn.
Folk songs are like a grandmother's lullaby.
The stork carries the lantern procession through the autumn nights.

The familiar, fairytale-like village communal house.
We return to reclaim the peaceful memories of our youth.
The melodious sound of the kite's flute echoes as it soars.
This afternoon the children were all excited about the Mid-Autumn Festival.

Kim Loan
Beside the old mossy threshold

Look, sir,
Sunlight on the doorstep
Just then, the old season softened the old sorrow.
Have the roses bloomed yet?
The fragrance of a noble lady, the gentle breeze, a lullaby.
Let's go home, the season is almost over.
The moss is no longer green, but people are turning mossy.

Look, the clouds and wind are swaying gently.
A bewildered sadness falls in the desolate afternoon.
My heart turns back to autumn.
The dried leaves have been decaying since yesterday.

The roses in the garden have bloomed.
The fragrance wafted from the teacup.
Look, sir,
That's an old story.
The twenties just go on like that.
Rush
Lapse…!

Cao Tien Ky
We return to reminisce about the old days.

I return to remember my mother from the past.
The mill creaks and groans in the sweltering midday sun.
My father is like a spinning top.
Shoulders burdened with the weight of a stone, a life of hardship.

Regarding the morning glory hedge
A childhood tinged with the purple of mischievous laughter.
Where is it! The brown mud-dyed shirt!
The earthenware pot in the kitchen, the rhythmic sound of the ladle under the late-night moon...

We return to reminisce about the old days.
The buffalo goes first, the plow follows behind.
People from the countryside have red lips and chew betel quid.
Swinging the carrying pole, crossing the bridge with a flying conical hat.

We return to cherish the plowed fields.
Rice grains carrying cassava during those difficult times
The pungent smoke of straw in the twilight
The pestle pounds in the late night, moss covers the temple roof.

We return to reminisce about the old days.
How can I possibly express all the longing and affection I feel?
A faint sound carried on the southerly breeze.
Oh, my dear! My mother's voice is filled with longing for her homeland.

Tran Lan
Evening kitchen smoke lingers

A kitchen with lingering evening smoke.
But why cling to love for a lifetime?
The rice pot, whether full or empty.
Still clear and filled with the joyful laughter of children.

The fire has died down to cold ashes.
How much coldness the kitchen has to endure, thanks to Mom!
The morning was filled with familiar warmth.
Dispelling the hardships and struggles of everyday life.

Family love overflows in the humble kitchen.
The glowing embers warmed the entire windy, rainy sky.
The aroma of braised fish is irresistible.
Baked sweet potato, corn cob as a filling.

Yellow smoke from the winnowing basket
Follow me endlessly into the cycle of making a living.
A foreign land, a city dream.
The pungent smell of incense smoke brought tears to my eyes.

Duong Thang
After my mother fell.

Moss clings to rain-strewn lines.
The sound of the rain falls softly on the old threshold where my mother used to sit.
Just by pulling the hem of the dress
My mother stumbled, lost her footing, and her life was filled with pain.

Now only the stitches remain.
My flesh is all wrinkled and distorted, Mother.
Old age can be a little careless.
Once again, I hear the restless sound of falling leaves.

My mother is so workaholic.
The garden, sweeping away the sorrows of the passing years.
The bed is soft, but the pillow is empty for mother to lie on.
Being far from home, I don't know what else to ask.

The mother's shadow swayed against the wall.
Where do we see twilight, when the evening is fading?
Rub gently and massage to soften the skin.
The child held her mother's hand as the night faded away.

Remember the day I fell and my mother lifted me up.
Now why did Mother fall in the silent courtyard?
Moss and slip marks
The heart is battered by the wind, and the persistent rain soaks deep.