POETRY
REINFORCES MY FAITH
As
a pupil, I used to write poetry in school-time;
Two
grades: three years! hard exams to pass, class to climb.
Green
envelopes, rose paper-nightly
copying and reading fans;
School-age
verse: dreamy soul but empty hands!
Grown-up,
I used to write poetry on the battlefields smart,
Exposed
to the enemy’s bullets aimed at our chest, heart.
Ink
mixed with blood, the foes on all sides besieging as reef,
Inspired
by resentment, poetry reinforced my belief!
Then,
I used to write poetry in every hard labor camp,
Defying
chains and shackles and even starvation, to stamp,
Writing
captives’ verse, setting to disgraced inmates’ strains,
Hoarse
to eulogize... the sublime time, superb brains!
I
used to roll over onto my back on the wooden floor
Under
fire-pouring tole roofs–filled with inspirational core;
Though
the draft was dirty, the verse should be splendid
Repaying
my muse’s boon after years to abyss descended.
I
used to be rapt in poetry even at the market stand
Only
awakened when customers called for certain brand;
I
gave my wife a hand some five hours in the daytime,
Supporting
a horde of children–hence pages of my rhyme.
Now,
here abroad I used to do so while on the work site:
One
hand parts to assemble, another scrabble to write.
The
leader asked? “Noting... expenditure, total owned!”
The
supervisor laughed: “Hello, poet!” and... condoned!
I
have leaned on my pen entering life with a heart clear
–
Poetry joins humans’ souls, friends far and near –
Silurids
through old times from the bottom of mud
Managed
to emerge, then have won their calm life-blood.
Pages
of poetry continue to increase, multiply every day
Germinating
faith, carrying sadness and misfortune away.
Used
to submitting myself to fate I have nothing to regret;
Accustomed
to utmost bane, such bit of adversity – no sweat!
Dark
nights must pass – morning light will be again bright;
It's
this temporary life’s principle of revolution – firm might!
What
for to brood on humans’ life while it is so short;
Happiness
is by myself, why I always continue to court?
The
endeared national flag and the pages of rhyme
Are
the great inheritance of this fighter poet’s lifetime.
My
last dream is a flag-covered coffin to return to origination
In
a cold grave but full of poetry according to my aspiration.
Translation
by THANH-THANH