Thứ Tư, 05/06/2019 00:40

Some Poems of Y Phuong

Your right leg comes to your dad/ Your left leg comes to your mom/ Voices appears after an step/ Smile appears after two steps/ A sympathy for our countrymen...


Real name is Hua Vinh Suoc, Tay ethnic group, born in 1947 in Trung Khanh, Cao Bang.

Was enlisted in 1968, during the Resistance war he was a soldier of an elite special army. After leaving the army, in 1981, he moved to work at Cao Bang Department of Culture and Information. He graduated from Nguyen Du Cours of Literature. Since 1993, he has been Chairman of Cao Bang Literature and Arts Association, Member of Executive Board of Vietnam Writers Association, Session VI. His poetry expresses a true, strong and pure soul, a way of thinking full of the image of highlanders.

Talk to child

Your right leg comes to your dad

Your left leg comes to your mom

Voices appears after an step

Smile appears after two steps

A sympathy for our countrymen

Sadness for persons living too far from hometown

The persons going to farway places nurture a great ambition

Regardless of everything, I still want

When you live on stone, (do not blame its roughness)

When you live in small valley (do not blame its poverty)

We seem like river and stream

Wandering up hill and down dale without complaints on tiredness

Our fellow countrymen are so rough with skin and flesh

Few persons are small

Our fellow countrymen self-chisel the rock to raise hometown’s

Hometown exists, customs will be followed

My dear, despite we are rough with skin and flesh

But when you go head

Never be too weak

My dear

Village name

You are my son

You are a man in Hieu Le Village

You come back from battlefield at the age of thirty

Get married in a hurry

Until the age of thirty, do you start to build house

Hedging a garden to plant vegetables

What first nice happiness

Like the sun rising from mountain

You are my son

You are a man in Hieu Le Village

Having a highland fever

Suffering from a wound in the body

Luckily, the plants in homeland

Healing your wound

You are my son

You are a man in Hieu Le Village

Wherr you cried at the age of three

Where the river and mountain firstly call ancestor

Where the fire is firstly made on the water surface

Where the porcelain is first cracked

Where the thinking first grows up

When the thinking grows up, sadness is felt

Your feet ever fighted like sharp rock

Now you come back with first babblings

Yes, the village where you was born

There is a house built with freestone

There are roads where black and yellow cows and buffaloes go in


There is happiness when the rice ripes

There is love melting into waterfall sound

Making sounds to the high sky

Resounding down to the earth

That is your Hieu Le village.

Source: Vietnam Writers and works