Top 7 Most Beautiful Poems about Mothers by Poet To Huu

Listen quietly to mother's tales of old

Under the scorching sun on Quang Binh's sands

She speaks: Bao Ninh, my homeland so grand

Vast seas and rivers, boats gently roll

Tides rise and fall, life's hard toll

Youth spent in labor, by her own hand

Grown among strangers, in foreign lands

Twelve years have passed, youth's bell tolls

Marriage and children, life's harsh demands

Eight births, numerous falls, enduring all

Think of the love from our parents' hands

Love for our spouses and children, through despair and gall

Now to our rivers, we return, stand tall

Venturing out to sea, where the boats call

Now with the sea vast, the sky so high

Fish and shrimp flourish, spirits fly

My husband joins the troops, with pride I stand by

'Ready' at the helm, a boat to ply

Across Nhat Le river, where our hopes lie

No fear of storms or the winds that cry

We've faced the West, now the Americans, we defy

Age matters not, in this fight, we vie

Rowing hard, in competition, spirits high

Looking up, mother's hair against the sky

Waves like the sea, in the wind, they fly

Such courage in her heart, how can it lie?

Mother says: For our country, why should we shy?

Men or women, we all can try

At sixty, still strong, a boat I can guide

Planes may shoot us, morning and night

But I'll keep rowing, from light to night...

Leaning close, with curiosity bright:

Why would he let mother row with might?

She laughs: Stubborn words, leaning into the light

If he dares the sea, shouldn't I fight?

Seeing his consent, my heart takes flight

Before I leave, he warns with oversight:

'Beware of storms, and the wind's bite

Here's a green tarp, keep yourself tight!'

Oh, the joy, in this tale of love and might

The noonday sun over Quang Binh's sands, alight...

Grandmother Buz rests on a bed of dry banana leaves

She does not sleep, worries flitting endlessly...

Tonight, the tenth of the last month, soon the year concludes.

When will the youngest son visit home once?

Since the day he left to liberate, till his return, when?

When will the enemy be defeated, to return to our homeland?

Night after night, Grandmother Buz prays in silent hope...

Restless in thought, her anger and hatred grow.

Outside, the mountain wind howls,

Night rain falls, from the base to home, it prowls...

This night, soldiers tread through jungle and stream,

Wet and cold, against the enemy, they scheme.

With only a banana leaf bed and a straw fire,

How does he keep warm, fighting through mire?

Last year's yams were sweet, this year's meals lack,

With sons gone to fight, the home feels the lack.

Grandmother Buz's heart is anxious and torn,

As dawn breaks, the first crow of the rooster is borne...

Tonight, on the floor, the fire flickers,

Grandma narrates the origins,

Stories of home and of the doors:

'My child, I had three,

Two boys and a girl,

The girl married far, the boys stayed with me.

The younger, to the battle he hurled,

Joined the ranks of Uncle Ho, to free.

One day, officials, with power unfurled,

Demanded, 'Where's your son? Speak to me!'

Fear struck, I stood, into silence I was whirled,

My soul and spirit, nearly set free.

They searched, destroyed, their anger twirled,

Treated us like enemies, not letting be.

Daylong destruction, into chaos we were hurled,

My eldest was taken, a sight I wish not to see.

After relentless torment, they finally unfurled,

Released the father, kept the son from me.

Vanished to places unknown, my world,

Years passed, rumors he was no longer to be.

'He was innocent as earth,' my heart twirled,

'Oh, my child, my child,' I plea.

The cold wind blows through cracks, unfurled,

Fire flickers, tears flow free.

'Since then, survival was our world,

Struggles of life, just granny and me.

Then, a miracle, hope unfurled,

Uncle Ho returned, setting us free.

He led the fight, the invaders whirled,

Chased them away, from sea to sea.

The traitors fled, their flags furled,

Our land rejoiced, finally free.

Soon after, my boy, from darkness he twirled,

Returned home, a sight to see.

'Don't cry, mom,' he said, 'Our flag's unfurled,

Independence won, we're finally free.'

He stayed briefly, then to the front he whirled,

'Till the fight's done, I cannot be.'

I prayed for his safety, in this turbulent world,

For his return, victorious and free.'

Source: To Huu, Viet Bac, Literature Publishing House, 1962