The 10 Best Poems About Farmers

Years of farming still result in hardship,

The crops are lost, and the harvest is poor.

Half goes to taxes imposed by the West,

Half goes to pay debts, and half to hire the ox.

Morning and evening, pickles for a meal,

At the market, betel and tea, I dare not buy.

No matter how frugal, progress is slow,

When will I ever stop worrying?

The hardest life is that of the farmer.
On cold winter days, they hope for no rain.
Bent over from morning to noon,
Eating quickly to make sure the Spring harvest is right.

Scrubbing off the mud from hands and feet,
All day long, back aching, bending low.
The Spring season stretches until the second month,
Working tirelessly without any friends to share the load.

As the evening brings a little sunlight,
Sweat soaking through, never pausing the work.
Spring is coming, day by day,
While people go to festivals, they struggle on with their fate.

Gentle hands, so delicate,
White skin blending with the muddy soil, filled with compassion.
Those who endure the sun and rain...
Their diligent, humble nature gives rise to the fragrance of life.

Poetry by: Dương Hiếu

The life of a farmer is full of struggles,
Plowing and sowing in the rain, hardship all around.
Now, there's nothing left to do but wait,
Staring at the sky with a deep sense of unease.

That's why we must endure these toils,
Laboring for months, exhausted beyond measure.
Why is the sky so indifferent?
Heavy rains come, but there's no sign of compassion.

The water floods the fields,
The water flows far away, lost in the distance.
We gaze around, everything looks bleak,
Making life even harder, despite the bitter pain.

Farmers are burdened by such fate,
And the sky is not merciful, with storms on the way.
Pesticides, seeds, and crops alike,
All swept away by the floods, but where do they go?

The people can only feel deep sorrow,
All their hard work wasted away.
So they must start over once more,
Praying to the heavens, hoping for the best.

Endless rain, constant hardship,
We long for peace, a moment of calm.
Then, as the morning sun rises,
We merge into life, hoping for relief.

Thiện Diệp

The life of a farmer in our village,
Working from dawn till dusk each day.
The fertile fields, the rich soil,
We plant and nurture, fruits and flowers bloom.

The scent of the breeze fills the air,
Spreading through the paths, welcoming all.
The jackfruit, plump and sweet,
Guava, pomelo, oranges, peaches, and plums.

The garden is filled with herbs and vegetables,
Squash, mangoes, lychees, avocado, and longan.
The village eagerly awaits each season,
As we step into the fields, working on our land.

The muddy fields, near the house,
The farmer works diligently, without a care for the time.
Tasks continue as always,
Days pass by, all because we are farmers.

The struggles and hardships are real,
A bowl of rice, worn clothes, and aching limbs.
But there’s never enough money,
To buy oil, salt, and even the rising fuel prices.

Not to mention the bank's interest rates,
Let’s not talk about it to avoid trouble.
Now, our greatest wish is simple,
To have everything go smoothly and progress forward.

Thiện Diệp

The life of a farmer is truly hard,

With vegetable gardens, fish ponds, and fields covered in morning dew.

We don’t long for wealth or fortune,

The deep fields, the flooded rice paddies, are where our feet have always known.

A life of toil and devotion,

Countless hardships, yet poverty remains our fate.

We dream of transformation… striving for a better life,

Like the carp that leaps over the mountain to become a dragon.

The farmer… remains the farmer,

No matter how hard we try to get close to luxury cars,

Even if our possessions were gilded with gold,

The farmer… continues to struggle… and still remains a farmer.

Nguyễn Thành Công

After graduation, there are no job opportunities,

Our parents' efforts seem to go to waste, filled with sorrow.

When I try to find work, nothing comes through!

So, I return to the deep fields and take up farming once again.

Riding my buffalo, I roam the fields carelessly,

As I plow the land, thinking maybe I’ll just marry and settle down.

Now, I run around looking for work,

But with no money, who’s left to wait at home?

Leading the buffalo out to the fields,

I just need to find a good farmer to marry, then it’ll be all set.

For years, my parents have hoped and waited,

But now all I can do is repay them like this.

My fate, it seems, was destined from the start,

So, I’ll just put my diploma away and accept it.

Nguyễn Lâm

I live among the barefoot people,
People whose lives are shaped by the sun, rain, and all the joys and sorrows it brings.
Even when they have shoes, they still prefer to walk barefoot,
For bare feet are familiar, and feel freer.

They are like the trees that make life flourish,
The earth doesn't dry up because of their sweat.
They don't read books or dream of distant lands,
They trust easily, even with nonsensical stories.

Thanks to living among such people,
I sleep deeply and peacefully, my heart at ease.
In my dreams, I smell the fragrance of wild grass,
And by morning, I meet the roses blooming.

CHỬ VĂN LONG

Sweet like fragrant grass and trees,
Feet in the mud, hands covered in dirt, plowing through the seasons.
Night after night, sleep is a weary battle,
With only a half-full stomach and a bed beneath the stars.

On the land below, the sky above,
Life's struggles shift like the tides.
Winter's harsh cold cuts into the skin,
Awakening with dew on the brow, ready to face the day.

Midday summer brings scorching heat,
The fields dry, the crops wither, the land cracks in despair.
The fish die in the shallow pools,
The dry earth gazes blankly, the heart growing heavy.

Alluvial soil drained from the river,
Floodwaters swell, yet the farmer's shoulders carry the weight.
Shouldering the land, mending dikes,
Wading through water to protect the fields.

Floating in the river's current,
The memories of a heroic past ease with the flow.
The thatched roof lies still in the wind,
And the earth beneath is as humble as the farmer’s soul.

Author: Phạm Huy Liệu

I am the daughter of a farming family.

This morning, I still went to the fields to sow seeds.

As the sun rose, my cheeks bloomed with warmth,

The distant evening smoke seemed like clouds of spring returning.

I am a daughter of the countryside,

Returning home to help my mother, never minding the poverty of our house.

At home, I cut bananas and chopped water hyacinth,

Carrying manure to the fields, taking care of the pigs and chickens.

Whenever school is out, I go back home,

The joy of plowing the fields is truly delightful.

My father carries the firewood, while I help him with the load,

The scent of the forest carries the fragrance of my homeland.

No matter where I travel, far and wide,

My homeland remains full of love and care.

The cooked rice and salted vegetables taste so savory,

Only by working hard can I truly be a good child.

Cẩm Chi Châu

Some say farmers lack ideals,

That they hinder the turning of the wheel of progress.

But I've seen farmers working hard all their lives,

Growing food on barren land.

I have witnessed farmers who fell in battle,

Soldiers in their field attire, their blood soaking the earth,

They died tending the land they had lived for,

Without any noble rewards following them to the green bamboo groves.

I have seen the chains of feudalism,

The shackles of collective ownership shining in their colors,

Decades of labor taking them far from their fields,

And decades of hunger still gnawing at their bones.

They lack education, so they value knowledge,

They sacrifice and raise children who become scholars.

At sixty, the mother is still working the fields,

While the scholar wears fine clothes, living in the city!

Despite hard years, they never forget their ancestors,

Remembering the old days with their children gathered around.

Yes, farmers may have many old customs,

But they will never lack love for their families or people!

I’ve seen Bờm and Mẹ Đốp,

Still living with Bá Kiến and Chí Phèo,

The chicken gone, cursing for days relentlessly,

The daughter married off, the whole village sharing betel leaves in joy.

I’ve seen sweat and tears flowing,

From sowing seeds to harvesting, drying crops in the sun.

Harvests that bring only a few hundred thousand dong,

A modest feast for the leaders is all that comes.

When there’s something delicious, farmers share with guests,

They worship Buddha, the Ancestors, and even snakes and dragons.

They are too trusting, even in the face of evil stepmothers,

Living and dying countless times, yet they pay their debts in full!

Farmers live quietly like the earth,

Sometimes barren, sometimes full of crops,

But please don’t lose faith or misjudge them,

Nine out of ten, the country is made by its farmers!

12-1989
"The Soldier’s Heart" - Văn học Publishing House - 1997

Nguyễn Sĩ Đại