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A Vietnamese Girl
A Vietnamese girl on Sri Ayuthaya Boulevard In Bangkok, is standing in a corner; burying Her face in her hands she bitterly cries This is not Saigon, she seems to realize. Sad autumn is the hair of the belle For it is dry and quite disheveled In the wind of an alien land, it flutters in disorder Prostitute at the age of sixteen ! Floating like a sea foam she has been Her home country is too poor to nurture her She gets into harlotry, hoping for the better. Her age is like the morning star, just rising It is as beautiful as an orchid flower, blooming It is the beginning of Spring With flowers and butterflies, flying With dream love, delicate and ascending. In school she should now be To learn how to be a decent Vietnamese lady To learn sewing, baby nursing, and embroidery To learn all about love That, like the moon, illuminates life for the better. But today, she has lost everything Her innocent age, her life In Bangkok it is drizzling Of Saigon's June shower, is it reminding? She recalls the dark alley to her house That was always somber somehow. O, little sister! You may think of your younger siblings looking For the news from their big sister, now faraway, living They live under a sky of missing and longing Where sad white clouds for ever are flying. Does the Chao Phraya River troubled water Remind you of your own Nha Be River Of the small creeks full of algae and trash Of the poorly maintained sewers with black water Black is now your Motherland's color Which cannot be the same for ever. Does your trying to learn a few Thai words Remind you of the days when you were only five Your father taught you to spell the word Vietnam. You tried several times Finally you got it right Mom gave you a sweet kiss as prize With hope in his mind, Dad gave a big smile The fire of hope for your future started to light The fire of yore that would illuminate your bright future Is now extinguished by the storms of life. When your trade makes your flesh sore and tired, Do you cry alone in the absence of light Each of your tears carries penitence Each of your moan hides repentance Your sad hair is injustice strings That cruelly tie up your life In this alien land, where are you going tonight ? Where are you going when the rain storm covers the river. The Vietnamese girl On Sri Ayuthaya Boulevard Closes her eyes to look at interminable life. The pages of Vietnam history Have so many ups and downs Many pages are dark and somber But this page is worse and darker Once our ancestors had to dive for pearls in the sea To go to the forested mountains for elephantsÆ ivory There were times when, red with blood, were our rivers When our ancestorsÆ bones were decomposed in jungle corners But there never were Vietnamese girls, in our history, Who had to sell their own flesh for food, overseas. This shame could never be wiped out But the shame is not yours alone It is also any decent VietnameseÆs mortification Who knows the meaning of national humiliation. I try to finish this poem tonight Although I know I can't hand to you these lines My poem is a confidence of a weak big brother Who, to the sea of suffering, sets his sight Bewildered in the market of life With a serious wound in the heart and mind Like an outsider, I just look at the suffering Material abundance in America makes me forget everything Including my seventy millions compatriots who are suffering And those little brothers and sisters wandering overseas I forget even my own misery in infancy When hatred and resentment prevailed, I left my country I did promise that one day I would return for the better: Peace for Motherland in every corner Vital energy for every inch of our land, mounts and rivers. That's the dream of yore I do not want to mention it anymore But it silently becomes alive in dreams at night Am I crying alone this time ? Or just in poetry, do I cry ? It is only a grain of dust that gets into my eye To mark the loss of a decent life? HOAI VAN TU
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