July Feelings

Selected and introduced by journalist and poet Pham Thuy Vinh.

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Dinh Ha
My father

A region shrouded in incense smoke.
My father sat in the ancestral hall, lost in thought.
Bidding farewell to years of warfare.
Return to your hometown and resume the farming life of your village.

Cherish every piece of equipment.
The backpack still holds the hardships of the past.
The wound was thought to have healed.
But the pain returns whenever the weather changes.

Those faded military uniforms
Following my father through the hardships of the Truong Son Mountains.
Parachute fabric as a dowry
Winter is a time for mothers to cradle their children in their arms.

Surrounded by the clutter of fields and rice paddies.
He still had the canteen with him.
My heart aches for my fallen comrades.
Therefore, my father believed in the spiritual aspects of human life.

We have traveled together to the ends of the earth.
Now I return to live quietly as a country bumpkin.
Tell your child to pursue their passion.
Don't forget your roots, preserve old customs...

Tran Ngoc Khanh
Purple flowers at the foot of the bridge

(Dedicated to veteran NQT)
On the bridge that afternoon
I pluck clouds and offer them to your brown eyes...
Little did we know, ten years later, he would return.
A pain, resounding from the beginning.

The rocky mountain range stands contemplatively like a statue.
The clumps of reeds turn silver in the changing seasons.
My hands feel as if they are lifting the fragrant scent of freshly harvested rice.
Suddenly, the horizon turned white with rain...

The bridge is broken...
And you and I too.
Why are the crape myrtle flowers still blooming purple at the foot of the bridge?

Nguyen Thuy
Father's memento

Mother sat down to reread Father's letter.
Each old page is stained and faded with time.
Having endured the devastation of war.
The words, written in ink strokes, tear across a person's life.

The war ended a long time ago.
Having gone off to war, my father never returned.
He held the keepsake in his hand, caressing it.
The letter was left unfinished, filled with overwhelming pain.

The words were as familiar as if they were memorized.
Carved into gold and stone, deeply etched in the heart.
Father has fulfilled his duty to the nation.
My mother took care of the house and shouldered the burden of supporting the family.

The altar is adorned with fragrant flowers and fruits.
Decades have passed, my hair has turned gray, my knees are weak.
Holding the letter, her eyes welled up and her hands trembled.
I told myself to hide my sadness and pretend to be happy.

Chien Nguyen
Homeland

My homeland holds memories of the past.
The sound of a calf mooing before it knows sadness.
The river ripples like a dragonfly's wing.
Bringing rain and sunshine when the clouds drift by

The storks fly gracefully.
The lush green fields are fragrant day after day.
Bamboo groves cast their shadows along the road.
Tell the story of the extraordinary Saint Gióng from that day.

The eaves rustled with the sound of sparrows.
The guava branch, with its deep red color, is sweet to the very heart.
On the hillside, the myrtle branches peek out.
The magpie pecks at the sword, searching for childhood.

My homeland holds everything I have now.
Containing the moonlit night, containing the dreams of human life.
My feet have traveled everywhere.
Also, to return to the skies of my homeland.

Le Hai Ky
The tombstone still speaks in silence.

once a year
lime mortar again
It's like people draping their thoughts over a tombstone.

Insomnia attacks often come without warning.
I sat peeling back layers of thought.
white to the point of desolation

The tombstone still speaks in silence.
Silence piled up with the smoke of incense.
a time of brutality, enduring rain and sun.
It turns out that rain and sunshine can also be frivolous.

once a year
hitchhiking and thinking
I,
I offer my prayers through all the cemeteries.