Top 10 Most Beautiful Poems about the Resistance

He fell on the runway at Tan Son Nhut

But he rose up, leaning his rifle on the wreckage of a helicopter

And he died standing and firing

His blood spurted in a fiery rainbow of bullets.

Suddenly, the enemy, in panic, surrendered

One of them collapsed at his feet to dodge the bullets

For even though he had died, his courage

Still stood tall, firing towards the enemy

What is your name, dear soldier?

You remain silent, like an indomitable wall

Like the sandals on your feet, stepping over countless American bodies

Yet you remain simple, pure, and bright

No photo, no address to remember you by

You left nothing for yourself before you left

Only your stance—the Vietnam Stance—etched into history:

You are a soldier of the Liberation Army.

Your name has become the name of the nation

Oh, soldier of the Liberation Army!

From your stance on Tan Son Nhut's runway

The homeland rises in a boundless spring.

(3-1968)

Source: Poems by Le Anh Xuan, Education Publishing House, 1981

We set up hammocks in the Trường Sơn forest

Two of us on distant ends

The road to battle is so beautiful this season

East Trường Sơn remembers West Trường Sơn.

A range of mountains, two different clouds

Where sun shines in one place, rain in another, and the air is different

Just like you and me, like the South and the North

Like East and West, all part of one continuous forest.

West Trường Sơn, I go, missing you

Over there it rains a lot, the road carries rice

The mosquitoes from the jungle stretch your sleeves

The vegetables are gone, will you take bamboo shoots instead?

I miss you in the cold winter of the West

The creek dries up, butterflies fly over the rocky cliffs

I know your heart longs for the strange land

I’m sure you worry about the enemy’s bomb traps

I'm on a truck, the rain pours down

The wipers wipe away my yearning

You descend from the mountains, the sun shines bright

The branch you carry sweeps away my private thoughts.

The East isn’t the same as the West

The road here is for transporting bullets and rice

East Trường Sơn, the “three ready” girls in green shirts

West Trường Sơn, soldiers in green uniforms.

From you, sending to me

The troops, countless, marching to battle

As love connects endless words

East Trường Sơn connects with West Trường Sơn.

-Phạm Tiến Duật-

Source: Trường Sơn - The Road of Hope, National Political Publishing House, 2009

Listening to my mother tell stories of the past,

Where the midday sun blazes over the dry sand dunes of Quang Binh.

She said: My homeland, Bao Ninh,

The vast sea and the endless drifting boats.

Morning and evening, the tide rises and falls,

Enduring hardships from the time I was just nine or ten.

I grew up, moving through four corners of the world,

Spent twelve years, a fleeting season of youth.

I married, yet life was hard, children came,

Eight births, how many times I suffered... why?

Thinking of the sacrifices my parents made,

Feeling the sorrow of my spouse and children, while bearing my own pain...

Now, the rivers and seas return to me,

Ships sail out and back in the open sea.

Now, the vast ocean and sky above,

Fish and shrimp thrive, and my heart is filled with springtime joy!

My husband joined the comrades, “going to war,”

And I was fortunate enough to be ready, always on duty.

With one hand, I steered the ferry boat,

On the Nhật Lệ River, carrying people day and night.

What fear of the storm or the aircraft flying by?

We’ve already won in the West, so the Americans can't defeat us!

Forget about aging and old age,

I keep rowing, racing against time!

Raising my head, I see my mother's hair swaying,

The wind stirs, like the sea waves, crashing against the shore...

What bravery, mother?

She said: To save the country, who else should we wait for?

Nothing better than children, both son and daughter,

Even at sixty, I still have some skill with the ferry.

The planes may strike early and late,

But I’ll keep ferrying through rain and sun...

I whispered to my mother, asking curiously:

Why did you allow him to let me steer?

She smiled: Speaking boldly, but there's always a risk,

If he dares to venture out to sea, I’ll be as brave as he is!

It turned out, he was happy to see me go,

So I went, and even ran to the river to remind him:

“Be careful of big waves and strong winds,”

The green tarp, mother, wrap it tightly around you!”

How joyful, this tale of love and devotion,

The midday sun on the Quang Binh sand dunes felt intoxicating...

4-11-1965

Source: Tố Hữu, Ra trận, NXB Văn học, 1972

It is said that a girl, the one who paved the way,

Saved the road that night from harm,

Allowing the convoy to reach the battlefield in time.

She lit the flame of love for her country,

Distracting the enemy and taking the brunt of the bombs...

My unit marched along a narrow path,

We encountered a bomb crater, reminding us of the girl,

A simple grave, the sun shining on stones of many colors,

Her love had built something greater...

I looked down into the bomb crater where she died,

The rain gathered in a small part of the sky,

Our land is kind and gentle,

With water and sky soothing our wounds.

She lies deep within the earth,

Like the sky that peacefully rests in the soil.

Night after night, her soul shines brightly,

The stars twinkle, dazzling and serene.

Could her soft, fair flesh have transformed,

Into the soft white clouds in the sky?

And by day, the sky is filled with sunlight,

Passing through the space she once inhabited—The sun awakens.

Oh sun, or is it the heart within her chest,

That now lights my way on this long journey ahead?

The road bears her name, a gift she left behind,

Her death became the sky of a girl in bloom.

I look deep into myself through her life,

Her face, unknown to my friends,

So each of us carries her face in our own way.

1972

- Lâm Thị Mỹ Dạ-

My homeland has a river, so green and clear,

The water, like a mirror, reflects the treetops.

My soul is like a summer afternoon,

Sunshine gleaming on the rippling river.

I wonder, does the river hold onto the days and months,

Preserving all the memories drifting along?

Oh, river, which has bathed my whole life!

I hold dear the fresh love,

The river of my homeland, the river of my youth,

The river of Southern Vietnam, my beloved land.

When the bamboo groves hum with the calls of birds,

And the water shimmers with the leaping fish.

My friends gather in groups,

A flock of young birds swimming on the river.

I stretch my hands to embrace the water,

The river opens up and welcomes me into its depths.

We grew up, each of us following different paths,

Some cast nets at dawn by the river,

Others tilled the fields, working in sun and rain.

I held a rifle, left home for the war,

But my heart, like the rain and sea winds,

Always returned, full of longing, to the river.

The image of my younger sister’s rosy cheeks...

Today, I live in the North,

Feeling my chest and hearing my heart quietly call,

Two sacred words: “Southern region.”

I can never forget the golden light,

How could I forget the deep blue sky?

I even remember those I never met...

There are afternoons when I stand beneath the trees,

Suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of emotions.

The image of the cool, refreshing river from my homeland,

Flowing gently, like a stream of water nourishing my soul.

Homeland, my heart is like the river,

The North and South are united, flowing as one.

No waterfall or rapids can block our path.

I will return to where I have always dreamed of,

I will return to the waters of my homeland,

I will return to the river of love.

6-1956

Written when the author was relocated to the North after the French resistance war.

Source: Tế Hanh, Lòng miền Nam, NXB Văn nghệ, 1956

"Farewell, Song Ma, oh Tây Tiến!"

Memories flood back of the forested mountains, an overwhelming sense of emptiness.

Sài Khao's mist envelops the weary troops,

Mường Lát blooms in the night air.

The steep, winding hills, infinitely high,

Desolate clouds of fog, the guns pointing skyward.

Thousands of feet climb, thousands of feet descend,

Who lives in Pha Luông, with rain from afar?

One comrade could go no further,

His body slumped, his rifle left behind, forgotten in life.

In the evenings, the thunderous roar of the waterfall is majestic,

At night, in Mường Hịch, the tigers play with us.

How I remember Tây Tiến, where the rice smoke rises,

And Mai Châu, where the aroma of sticky rice fills the air.

The campfires light up like a festival of torches,

There, a girl in her traditional dress has always been there.

The bamboo flute plays the song of the shy maiden,

The music travels to Viên Chăn, building the soul of poetry.

Did you see the soul of the river reeds at Châu Mộc,

Floating on the turbulent waters, swaying with the flowers?

Tây Tiến, the soldiers march with no hair on their heads,

Their uniforms green as the leaves, their spirit fierce like tigers.

With eyes glaring, they send their dreams across the border,

At night, they dream of Hanoi, the graceful, fragrant figure.

Scattered across the frontier, their graves far from home,

They marched through the battlefield without regret for their youth.

In place of clothes, their shrouds, they return to the earth,

The Song Ma roars, echoing their solitary journey.

Tây Tiến, the soldiers left without promises,

The road ahead, steep and dividing them forever.

Who will go to Tây Tiến in that spring?

Their souls remain in Sầm Nứa, never to return to the lowlands."

- Quang Dũng -

"The morning is as refreshing as the dawn of years past,

The wind blows the autumn breeze with the scent of fresh green rice.

I remember the autumn days long gone,

The chill of the morning in Hanoi's heart.

The long streets are stirred by the breeze,

People leaving without a glance back,

Behind them, the sunny steps covered in fallen leaves.

This autumn is different now,

I stand in joy amidst the mountains and hills,

The wind sways the bamboo forest,

The autumn sky dons a new coat,

Its blue speaks of deep affection!

This sky is ours,

This land of mountains and forests is ours,

The fragrant fields are ours,

The endless roads are ours,

The rivers, rich with alluvial soil, are ours,

Our water,

The water of those who have never bowed down.

Every night, whispers echo from the earth,

Reminding us of the days gone by!

Oh, the bloodstained fields of the homeland,

The barbed wire tearing apart the evening sky,

The long nights of marching, hearts burning with passion,

Suddenly, I ache with longing for my beloved's gaze.

From the years of suffering and struggle,

The face of the homeland shines brightly,

From the rice fields and the kind-hearted bamboo groves,

The sounds of hatred rise up with defiance.

A bowl of rice filled with tears,

They tear it from our mouths,

The French invaders, the tyrants,

Some crush our necks, some strip our skin...

Your shackles can't bind us,

The sky is full of birds and the earth is full of flowers,

Your bullets can't strike us,

Our hearts love our country and our home!

The smoke of factories swirls in the mountain mist,

The call of the trumpet echoes through the fields,

In their worn clothes, the people rose,

And became heroes of the land.

By day the sun burns, by night the rain pours,

Each step of the way, a step of sacrifice,

Our brows burn as we think of the sky and the earth,

Our hearts are filled with the light of dawn.

The guns roar, shaking the sky with fury,

The people rise, like water breaking its dam,

Vietnam’s waters, from the flames of battle,

Shake off the mud and rise up, shining bright."

- Nguyễn Đình Thi -

"When I was young, I walked to school twice a day,

My love for the homeland grew with each small page of a book:

"Who says tending cattle is a hardship?"

I dreamed as I heard the birds singing above,

The days I skipped school,

Chasing butterflies by the pond,

My mother caught me... Before a single strike, I was already crying!

There was a girl next door,

She smiled at me with a soft giggle...

***

The revolution broke out,

The long war of resistance began,

My homeland was filled with the shadow of the enemy,

I said farewell to my mother as I left,

The girl next door – (who would have guessed!)

Joined the guerrilla fighters,

When I met her again, she still giggled softly,

Her big dark eyes (oh, so full of tenderness!),

In the midst of the march, unable to speak a word.

The unit passed by, I turned to look back...

The sky was full of rain, but my heart stayed warm...

***

Peace came, and I returned here,

To the old schoolyard, the sugarcane fields, the plowed land,

I saw her again,

Shyly hiding behind the door...

She still giggled when I asked softly,

About her husband and children (it's too hard to talk about, dear!)

I held her small hand, feeling sorrowful,

She let it stay in my hand, warm and comforting...

Today, I received the news of her passing,

I couldn't believe it, even though it was the truth.

The enemy shot her, then discarded her body,

Simply because she was a guerrilla, my dear!

The pain tore at my heart, it was like half of me died!

Once, I loved my homeland for the birds and butterflies,

For the days I skipped school and got punished...

Now, I love my homeland because in each handful of earth,

There is a piece of her flesh and blood.

Source: Giang Nam, Tháng Tám ngày mai, NXB Văn học, 1962

Without glass, it’s not because the vehicle is without glass,

Bombs explode, the glass shatters away,

Calmly, I sit in the driver's seat,

Looking at the land, the sky, looking straight ahead.

I see the wind entering and stinging my eyes,

I see the road running straight into my heart,

I see the stars above and suddenly the wings of a bird,

Like falling, like rushing into the cockpit.

No glass, yes, there is dust,

The dust turns my hair white like an old person,

Without the need to wash, I light up a cigarette,

We look at each other, faces dirty, laughing out loud.

No glass, yes, my shirt gets wet,

The rain pours down, drenching just like the outside sky,

No need to change, I’ll drive another hundred kilometers,

When the rain stops, the wind dries me off quickly.

The vehicles from the bomb craters,

Have gathered here to form a unit,

We meet friends along the road,

Shaking hands through broken windows.

The Hoàng Cầm stove we set up in the open sky,

Sharing a bowl of rice means we are a family,

The hammock sways precariously on the road,

We keep going, the blue sky is brighter.

No glass, and the vehicle is without headlights,

No roof, the body is scratched,

The vehicle still moves because the South is ahead:

As long as inside the vehicle, there is one heart.

- Phạm Tiến Duật -