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The Old Soldier An old Vietnamese soldier of olden war time Just died last night On San Jose dusty road, under the street lights. He had traveled many thousand miles Before coming here to silently die With no gun report to mark his demise With no loved ones present at the time With no one saying good-bye To him when he agonized. The old Vietnamese soldier Like a wild beast was erring On the freeway full of cars humming and speeding A sudden cry echoed in the rainy night A leaf was gone with the wind painfully A hiccup rose in the deserted night, dolorously. Where was his wife ? Why didnÆt she come to close his eyes ? Where were his children ? Why didnÆt they come for mourning? He went and came in a hurry in this life With no loved ones to say good-bye ! Civilized people have different ways of living While my compatriots have bizarre ways of dying! A pregnant lady, holding her husband tight, jumped into the sea So, fallen into the Thai piratesÆ hand, she would not be So the billows of the East sea could sing pathetically The eternal song of chastity and loyalty And to the Viet coast line, could carry her body So, both in the morning and evening, the high tides Would carry her flesh and blood to enrich Motherland, mine. There was a mother who woke up at midnight And went to town to sell her blood to buy Milk that her baby child needed to stay alive On her way back, when she just approached home She fell down from lack of blood and expired, Without seeing her baby child for the last time. With no milk for his hunger, the sick baby died ôMommy!ö was his last cry when he agonized. The drops of blood that killed both mother and child Were used as ink to write the bloody pages of our history So that the water of the Red River Could always flow with carmine color, The color of the blood of Vietnamese mothers. Last night one more Vietnames son Died on a San Jose's street all of a sudden He did not die in Lower Laos, Binh Long or Cua Viet He did not die in Ham Tan, Suoi Mau or Hoang Lien Son His death in an alien country is much sadder For on his tombstone would appear a line of American letters. He was a Vietnamese born in the wrong century And died at the wrong place, really ! On the faraway other side of the ocean, tonight, His country is still being immersed in a sea of fire ! O, Big brother! to you I write these lines From the bottom of the heart of your Little Brother, Who, like you, is also in exile ! We are two leaves of the same branch, you and I We quiver in each and every storm of life. O, Big Brother! Go to sleep in the world of no light Your suffering, I certainly take your place to write. HOAI VAN TU
Original version in Vietnamese:
NGƯỜI LÍNH
GIÀ VỪA CHẾT ÐÊM QUA
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