by Thong Ba Le
(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,
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,
The tree shadow was shrinking,
barely with a few leaves on skinny limbs
Just like the old miserable country
suffered from destruction,
from napalm bombs and famine
in a long yet ended war and
The people were bored.
Those powerful dictators too.
There was nothing left for them to collect... so
He cried in many endless silent nights
(Please click here for slide show)