Top 10 Beautiful Poems by Poet Nguyễn Mỹ

The Warmth of the Jungle Path

Countless forest leaves fall along your path
melting into the mud, leaving countless footprints beneath your feet
And the marks of elephants and tigers
are left behind
Many days of sun and nights of rain, full of worries
My heart follows the deep paths
On sharp stones, where your feet tread
The road comes alive each day, connecting footsteps
carrying loads
marching through the four seasons: spring, summer, autumn, winter
The new road is now unfamiliar
I walk with my heart full of joy
And the warmth of your footprints guides me
The long road crosses through the rain and the sun
The long road spans across day and night
Many steep hills
Many descents
And fields of bombs
burned with a golden hue
Sharp turns filled with the scent of spies
At night, the forest’s breath is still
A tree’s life is over
Fallen
And occasionally, eerie growls
Everything becomes familiar, gentle
I hear the warmth of laughter in the green light
I chase after the verses singing about you
I’ve met many young girls along the way
Some healthy and bright
Some pale and frail
Some carry heavy loads
Some lay in hammocks waiting for the fever to pass
All cheerfully mention your name
Without any worry or fear
They are as if at home
They are quiet or singing
And each shape and form reminds
Of your unique form
Of your strength
Of your part in life
Of your dreams

My admiration moves me to tears!
You are tiny like a young bamboo
Fragile like a spot of autumn sunshine
You, from behind, only a backpack
A single leaf slows you down
A stone makes it harder
Where to step, so as not to fall

From atop a bicycle seat
Amidst the road, the purple shirt flutters
Now turning into the clouds
Your small feet step on countless peaks
Into the flames to make a small spear to avenge
You have overcome many initial challenges
Going forward as a victor
All worries turned into pride
I gently float like a bird
Over valleys, through hills
Did you pick up
In your determined steps
The chill of the forest
The struggles on the path to battle
Today, the forest feels like a garden full of ripe fruits
All I hear now is the cheerful sounds of birds singing.

May 1968

This poem was written by the author for his lover when she had to venture farther west, knowing that they might never meet again.

The Season of Fighting the Americans

The plow tracks through the dark night
The plow tracks under the green moonlight
The plow tracks under the dry sunshine
With a simple rifle in hand
The farmer plows the fields, shooting at American planes
Like a bird eliminating pests from the crops

The black crows and the white herons
Follow the plow, digging for worms
They hide under the farmer’s feet
When the steel vultures come to shoot from above

The bomb craters fill, transforming into drought-resistance ponds
Fragments of aircraft fall beside the steel plowshare
The plow tracks go through the rain of bullets
Turning up pieces of airplanes

The rice fields of the South are poisoned
Calling out in every inch of brown soil
The season comes, painting the land green near the frontlines
The target of ten tons a year in mind

The seeds you sowed soak and germinate
Sprouting in the farewell moment
The seeds of hope in the hands of young wives
Opening the leaves with joy, waiting eagerly

The traffic routes extend into irrigation canals
More trees planted to camouflage the artillery
The vehicles covered in battle scars
The pumps stain the soil with traces of blood!

By day, we nurture, by night, we build roads, move artillery
Rice sacrificed to pave new paths
Defensive positions grow, the warfront lines form
When the gunfire fades, the sound of skylarks fills the air

The crops rise, full and abundant
Like the tide, the harvest keeps growing
Despite the red flames from the sky
Airplanes’ wrecks sink into the sea of rice!

The airplane hunters lie in wait within the rice fields
The rice embraces the fortifications, thickening the defense
In the Season of Fighting the Americans, the rice stands tall like artillery barrels
The grains outnumber the bullets from submachine guns

The harvest has ripened, the news of victory rings out
Soldiers replace their camouflage uniforms
They feel the urgency in the breeze
As clouds carry the southern sunshine down

The clouds also ripen in the blue and golden sky
The convoy heads to the frontlines, fragrant with night’s dew
At night, the villagers pound rice, thinking of those beyond the battlefield
The militia, with rifles and sickles in hand

The elderly village members stroke their silver beards
Welcoming the full rice harvest to the drying fields
They say: The sky also supports us in fighting the Americans
From last season until now, seven hundred enemy soldiers have fallen

The rear base glows with a golden hue
Southern Vietnam, while the North celebrates a good harvest
We store up the victories from both sides
Americans are sure to lose!...

Source: The Red Farewell (shared poem collection), Hanoi Publishing House, 1979

That Road

The narrow road
Walks between two rows of trees
The road is shaded in a blanket of green
A deer lies down to rest
Listening to the whispers above

On both sides, the sun
Autumn’s golden glow is here
The sun drops in droplets, its rays ringing
Within the sunlight, a thousand bells chime

They don’t bask in the sun
They come to sit here
Sitting just a hand’s breadth apart
Listening to the leaves’ soft murmur

The winter will come
Leaves will fall
To the place where they sit
Remaining close, in warmth

But it doesn’t matter
The deer will wander away
Drawn by their whispered song...

Source: The Red Farewell (shared poem collection), Hanoi Publishing House, 1979

In the Diligent Fields

The sound of the pump draws water
Hurrying the rice fields to ripen
The afternoon sun stays
Over the golden and yellow fields

The mist over the purple flowers in autumn
The veil filled with sounds
Time rides on a white horse
Hurrying alone, far away

The music of the horse’s hooves sings
Happiness blazes like fire
The rice ripens as silkworms sleep
The harvest is here, my love

I thought we had crossed
Such a long distance
As if we had walked together
Since the end of last season’s crop

The first furrow of the field
In the diligent fields
The ox refuses to walk
As if remembering the days we once shared
The path was cunning, like a game...

The fields seem to expand
Can you guess why?
The farmer goes to fight the enemy
The rice with feet will follow...

Source: The Red Farewell (shared poem collection), Hanoi Publishing House, 1979

Hoan Kiem Lake and the Wheelchair

Flames have lit up the branches of the phoenix flowers
The wheelchair rolls, waking the sound of cicadas
The sweeping broom, the joyful rain tapping stones
Like small bells ringing down the road

The shelter around the lake is green with grass
Bombs and thieves have cut through the outskirts
And the moths burn and fall
Their bodies scattered near the gates of Thang Long!

Many times, young men and women
Leave the city for the nation's call
They take Hoan Kiem Lake as their rendezvous
Making it the runway of their youthful days

You drive the wheelchair on Hoan Kiem's road
Where the journey leads to distant horizons
Your youth is eager for battle
Armed with courage, guarding the skies above
Swift like swallows circling in the air

On the wheelchair, you're like riding a steel elephant
The gun like the body of the vehicle, bullets at your waist
Your clothes green, blending with the faded grass
Hoan Kiem's waters reflect the light of the sky
Do you see the loving glances behind?
As people march, feeling the warmth of the past!

The Turtle Tower watches you, oh determined girl
On the heavy wheelchair, carrying the weight of history
This is the road where you once rode a bicycle
Through joyful festivals and celebrations!

We hear you, the slow yet steadfast motion
Between the days of bombs and gunfire
It's as if we can hear the heartbeats of the country
The rough, metallic sounds of growth

We hear you carry the spirit of the old town
With the tall trees of childhood, their leaves shading the way
Filling the air with the strong smell of tar
The summer heat baking the fruit of the land

Climb down, dear, this land we cherish
With the stones that hold the essence of our souls
To make sure the road stands firm when called to rise in battle
Beside the Turtle Tower, a symbol of courage

Hanoi pulses, circling the Tower
With your wheelchair moving tirelessly
The road by Hoan Kiem smells of fresh fire
Connecting to the wider world, the fall of American forces

Connected to all, with blood coursing in veins
The road of victory, like joyful beads on a string
Hoan Kiem shines as a mirror of history
The wheelchair moves around the Tower, a testament to humanity

6-1966

Source: The Red Farewell (poetry compilation), Hanoi Publishing House, 1979

Tuy An

The Mount of Ông stands with bent shoulders, the Mount of Bà wearing a hat
The rocks of Chiêng and Trống hum in the early evening
Oh Tuy An, where the mountains and people gather
The land vibrates with lively colors, echoing in song...

The valleys echo with the ocean's call at dawn and dusk
The mountains close their arms, reluctant to let go
The people ride the mountains, pushing towards the sea
The red rock of Yến stands out amid the blue waves

The villages cluster in the green valleys
Yams, sugarcane, beans, and wild vines climb the terraced fields
Highland villages, the ancient well on the mountain
Singing tunes that mimic the fluttering of birds in groups

The Hoà Đa land is black but gives birth to white flowers
The coffee forests ripen red in An Xuân's soil
The stone mangoes and the pepper from Trà Úc
The salted fish from Tiên Châu, and the fragrant rice of Tượng Đồng

The land is so joyful that even the rivers linger
As they reach the sea, ready to embrace it...

The sea enters Ô Loan, falling into a deep sleep
The blood clams thrive in the bottom of the green dreams
Remember Ô Loan's lagoon, my friend!
The sky and earth are pure, showing you your heart...

Source: The Red Farewell (poetry compilation), Hanoi Publishing House, 1979

To a River

I love because of a river
The water flows clear, as peaceful as my joyful heart
Silk threads stretch, painting pairs
The breeze caresses the moonlit sand, shining soft and faint
The shuttle weaves the endless silk thread
The boat moves, the bamboo banks lean
The oar strokes a melody of love
Soft waves rock the soul of the boat, so vast
The paddle halts, making ripples like flowers
The resonant song carries the spirit far out to sea
The shore reflects smiles
And the sparkling eyes of the one I love

10-1958

My Sister

For Kim Sâm

On the day my brother left for his mission
My sister was still carrying her third child...

I came back this time
The older children rushed to greet me
The younger one followed, calling: - Uncle!
My brother is in the wedding photo with my sister
Looking down at us
Even with both arms stretched wide, I couldn't hold all the children

My sister stepped in
She stood and watched me from the doorframe
She had just come back from work, carrying a plastic bag
She would call out after standing still for a while
Then smile joyfully with tears in her eyes

The children left me and ran to her
Oh, they were like a flock of sparrows
She looked like a fruitful grapefruit tree
With every step, the branches swayed with ripe fruit...

She showed me the letters my brother sent
Letters sealed with square stamps
She smiled and said she had just returned from the fourth zone
The camouflage fabric still hung on the wall

Then she opened the cupboard to show me a box
And took out her university diploma
When my brother left, she was still taking classes
I remember how he studied while working at the same time

Both of them are pharmacists
My brother also interrogated prisoners of war
My sister said Latin was hard to remember
And mentioned how my brother used to hang up a sign to learn English

I looked at her with deep respect
Thinking of the four years that passed in this house
The three children growing up and the university diploma

All the joy she shared with my brother
She couldn't express how many flowers had fallen
I could only count the ripe fruits on the branches...