THE BEARING ĐỊNH HƯỚNG






CRY OF A SEAGULL

by Thong Ba Le



Teardrops In The Waves

Once upon a time there were friends of mine,
in a night, on a sea called "red side",
their souls flew among the lowest dark clouds.
Their spirits, their names were carried up high.

The sea battle had begun in the dark,
four boats engaged and so very fast,
they were damaged and dead in water,
one of them was burning, broken in half.

My boat was hit, we continued to fight
with courage and rage, our spirits were high.
The enemy fleet of junk boats and ships
desperately escaped in the night.

They were running, they used a smoke screen,
those cowards were fleeing the battle scene,
left behind their comrades who were drowning,
and rescued by warriors of the sea.

Tonight in my dream I was a seagull,
lonely in the sky and lost in the moon,
searching for the teardrops in the waves
and the burning ships in "The Black Sea" zone.

A Far Away Land

The night his country was falling apart,
with the desperate sorrow in his heart,
he stood silently by and watched sadly,
the disappearance of his motherland .

In the dream he leaned over the deep cliff .
He looked straightly down on waves too swift?
Far away a ship sailed the sea to find
his memory and his love in the mist .

Among the cloud he flew into the past,
over the ocean that once his ship passed
and the mountains, the islands, the rivers,
to cry and to see people were so sad .

With the upwind, he traveled through the time,
to the moon hanging brightly in the sky .
He could see the land he had lost that night,
on the further horizon of his mind .

In his heart the far away land to be
the mother, the father, and the east sea,
the mountain, the river, the tropic sun
that nourishes his life, his love overseas

The Vietnamese Exodus

Upon the collapse of a whole Army,
the people of the use-to-be prowess
and generations of integrity
had decided to migrate to the west.

The sadness and the gross denigrate
denied their willingness to live in shame,
the warriors wanted to save their faces,
they killed themselves along with their fame.

Two million refugees had escaped
and scattered all over free countries
They left behind thousands who could not make,
some lost their lives for the freedom at sea.

The " Red Rose " had bloomed on the East Sea.
The exodus was set by destiny.

Liberty Dreamer

O Liberty Bell, you're standing alone
Your many cracks, the history of which
are seen from across the Convention Hall.
In the Declaration's birthplace of this
country of freedom and opportunities,
life, love and happiness are preserved
as well as the pursuit of liberty,
so justice, the human rights can be served.

O Liberty Bell, spirit of the Land,
keep healing the world with your freedom sounds,
the right to live is placed in people hands
'til people discover dreams can be found.

O Bell, you have not been standing alone
without your sounds, human rights would be gone

The Last Race

She crossed the line and then collapsed,
trembling and falling onto her forelegs.
She's given her all in the final lap
and giving more when she had nothing left.

She knew it was a matter of honor,
she had been selected to represent
her country, which relied on her record
and wore the hues of the nation as planned.

Before she died, she had realized
her dream to become a race horse
not only seemed to be finalized,
but with her last race she was endorsed.

Both her sire and her dam would have been proud.
The training staff was standing with heads bowed.

The Color of Time

Broken small pieces of the picture of his life
scattered all over the journey of his mind
and this lifetime trek would reach the universal end
not the global finish of mankind now and then.

He began his journey with the new ‘World War’ fear,
crying to welcome life on fourth day of New Year
that was called by Chinese: ‘Year of the New Snake’,
then emigrated to the ‘New World’ with new faith.

And the water lilies kept flowing downstream
along the river with weeping willow’s dream,
away from the place that once he grew,
to the seaside there the sun rose in the morning dew.

He traveled roughly through three wars in distress,
all of them were cruel, he could never forget.
The last torment was not by the enemy’s strength
nor lacking of courage to fight for Motherland.

The ‘Color of time’ went by with grief of yesterday,
sweet memories would stay at the end of the day.

The Time Of My Life

Does it matter anymore, those long days of effort to fight
in vain for idealism and freedom?
Is it useless trying to devote the time of my life
searching for the power of wisdom?

Does it matter anymore for the lost motherland
I once treasured on endless nights and bored?
Is it somewhat meaningless to build castles in the sand
when all the dreams are for brighter shores?

Does it matter anymore for all struggles to cope,
to live a better life and to “keep the faith,”
then to overcome obstacles in the new land with hope,
but finally to realize it doesn’t matter because it’s too late?

As time gone by taking along what has been set and done,
it really matters for me to depart this life as a free person!!!

The Inspiration

The inspiration that inspired me
had come from the love movies that I see
and from romantic stories which I read,
even from the scenery of the sea.

The motivation encouraged to write
poems, the composition of a kind;
a drawing of beautiful girl's body,
the dream of the artist in quiet nights.

The emotion when making sad movies
the feeling of the producers must be
together deep down in their inspired souls,
they are people acting in the stories.

The execution of action in poems
sounds like the completion of a sweet theme,
inspiration from all around the world,
putting the writer's works into a hymn.

The Uncertain Mind

Who pasted the moon to the sky?
Who brightened lonely stars at night?
Who had set the sun up so high?

What caused the sea rushing to shore?
What formed the earth from a core?
What's keeping the heart beating more?

Why don't the dark clouds stop raining?
Why don't the love birds quit singing?
Why doesn't the world start helping?

Where are the hearts of humanity?
Where are the hands for the needy?
Where is the right to become free?

When will the spirits be praised?
When will men cease to be afraid?
When will the world live in good faith?

How can people live in freedom?
How is human right yet to come?

The state of mind is burdensome,
the memories, the experiences and our freedom,
the glory, the failure of mankind
is Who What Why Where When and How?

The Destiny of A Voyage

On the cruise ship Titanic which was named.
They were among the riches and the fame
on a voyage across the Atlantic,
aboard the luxury ship for journey.

Their love had begun on that quiet night
with the witness of moonlit sky so bright
When the young girl was badly depressed
with herself and her desperate love life.

In the night after they were together;
on deck of the lighted ship they preferred,
when the floating iceberg hit Titanic,
cut deeply alongside of the cruiser.

Titanic sunk after she broke in half.
In a cold night with the help of the staffs,
there were not enough boats for passengers
the girl survived without her sweetheart.

The end of the destiny love story,
with the tear drops running down when you see
the two young lovers being torn apart,
and their love flew to the eternity.

The Veteran

The one-legged veteran
and his wooden leg ,
both had suffered too much from the war
and were barely surviving so far.
He lost his leg defending the last front,
in the final countdown.
His daughter lost her life in the enemy front
on the road to visit her Dad,
her bus ran over a mine, so sad.
He held his leg like a sweet supporter,
The wooden leg made by him,
when he was in the prison camp
under the candle light so dim
from a piece of hard wood and by hand.

Picture Of A Life


(In memory of my country)

The old chariot stopped at the dark oak tree.
The tired old horse exhausted.
The old man leaned on his trembling feet
checking the loose tread wheels,
shaking.
He got a water bottle from the bamboo basket,
that was old too, and fed the thirsty horse.
He drank from the canteen
and washed his face with cold water.
He did not move to wipe off the fly
that was sucking salty sweat off his neck,
satisfying.
The tree shadow was shrinking,
barely with a few leaves on skinny limbs
hanging.
Just like the old miserable country
suffered from destruction,
from napalm bombs and famine
in a long yet ended war and
surviving.
The people were bored.
Those powerful dictators too.
There was nothing left for them to collect... so
depressing.

He cried in many endless silent nights
awakening.

Virginia, 30 August 2017
Thong Ba Le