To an exile, each day seems one more year to drain;
Quite long, but not enough comparing with my pain.
And my shame, I want to hide it from everybody;
I can hide it from others, but from myself: in vain.
The letters many times were written but not sent;
I burnt them to stare at where the white smoke bent.
Each word of mine became in the fire incarnate:
I was burnt too, but not aware of what that meant.


I am aware that you've been waiting each second,
At home, inactive, patiently expecting some beckon.
Feeling ashamed of being a free man abroad,
I look at my life and find a repeated zero to reckon.

I made you the promise, but why I suddenly cry?
To be a worthy being is to live up to one's good ply.

How pitiful is my condition, aged ahead of age,
Bewildered to watch the sacred torchlight stultify.


Let me convey to you my undying faith as our base,
Together with nostalgia and my rhymes to embrace:

My verse tastes salted for there appears to be blood
And the yellow flag to cover our motherland's face.


Translation by THANH-THANH