Top 8 Essays About Vietnam's War Invalids and Martyrs Day 27/7

As tradition goes, every July, my school's youth organization holds a 'Lighting Candles of Gratitude' ceremony at the local martyrs' cemetery on the evening of July 27th. This activity is a heartfelt tribute from the youth to the heroes who sacrificed their lives in wars defending the country. It also serves as an opportunity for the young generation of Vietnam to reflect on the heroic legacy of our ancestors, inspiring pride and a determination to continue their mission of building and safeguarding the nation.

During these July days, I often listen to, enjoy, and reflect upon the song 'The Red Flower' by poet Nguyễn Đức Mậu and composer Thuận Yến.

'There was a soldier,
Leaving from a humble thatched roof in the autumn,
Another soldier,
Leaving in spring, never to return.
His name carved in the mountain's stone,
His spirit merged with the bamboo tree.
On the border, with foggy hills, his mother gazes into the distance, eyes tired...

Vietnam, oh Vietnam!
The mountains are as high as a mother's love, the four seasons mourn her lost children.
Vietnam, oh Vietnam!
The hill where he fell,
Bursts into flames like the red flowers of the distant forest, like the burning sunset.'

Though I’m not a great singer, there’s something about this song that moves me deeply. Perhaps it's because I’m connecting with the emotions of the poet and composer, living through the essence of the song, and becoming one with the soldiers depicted in it: 'One soldier leaves in the autumn from a humble home; another departs in spring, never to return.'

How sorrowful it sounds. How powerful it is, yet not drenched in despair. There's grief, yet immense pride. These young soldiers, barely in their teens, marched into battle with the call of the land. Mothers sent their children off to fight, entrusting them to the larger, more sacred mother: the Motherland. They fell, their blood staining the flag as it proudly flew in the wind. Their bodies did not return, but their spirits are engraved into the mountains, living forever in the land and the people.

After the deep, poignant tones, the refrain soars: 'Vietnam, oh Vietnam, the mountains are as high as a mother’s love.' These mothers gave all, their sacrifice becoming part of the nation itself. They are no longer mere women; they are mountains, rivers, and the nation. The poignant words bring to light the eternal bond of sacrifice and remembrance.

As I listen, I understand the high sacrifices of the soldiers and the mothers, as well as the cost of war. I understand the value of the independence and peace we enjoy today, and how we must honor the fallen by living with purpose. On July 27th, even in the busyness of life, I take a moment to reflect and honor these heroes, my heart swelling with gratitude and sorrow, especially when the lights go out, and the somber melody plays amid the flickering candles and incense, while the voice of the host reverberates in the night. The young students, dressed neatly, sitting quietly by the graves, bring a warmth to my heart. It seems there is a spiritual connection. I pray for the nation's peace and happiness, for harmony across the world.

Hiền Hòa

July is a month that holds personal memories for everyone. For me, July brings a blend of emotions, intertwining memories of past days with the present moment.

In July, the entire nation honors the fallen heroes and war veterans who sacrificed their youth for the beloved homeland. Many activities dedicated to honoring those who contributed to the country take place across the nation. Quang Tri Ancient Citadel is a place where many come to remember the countless heroes and martyrs. Stepping onto the flower-release dock in Quang Tri, many are moved when reading the poem by journalist Le Ba Duong inscribed on the stone tablet:

“The boat rises on the Thach Han River, oar gently
At the riverbed, my friend lies
At twenty, turning into waves
Washing the shore, forever for a thousand years.”

Le Ba Duong was a reporter for the Central South and Central Highlands region at the Culture newspaper. He was a soldier who fought in the fierce battle at the Quang Tri Ancient Citadel in the summer of 1972. The poem serves as a tribute to his fallen comrades in that battle.

Every year, on July 27th, my mother prepares a solemn meal to honor my uncle. He sacrificed his life in the Spring Offensive of 1968 in the D region. To this day, our family does not know the exact date of his death or the location of his grave. Therefore, we observe July 27th, Vietnam's War Invalids and Martyrs Day, as his memorial day. The letters he wrote, full of promises to meet again, still remain... but he is gone forever. Several times, our family has tried to find his grave without success. During one of the memorial days, my father, trembling, offered incense and turned to me, eyes filled with tears, saying: “Perhaps he wanted to stay there with his comrades.” His words gave me comfort. Indeed, no matter where my uncle rests, he is within the embrace of our motherland, and surely his spirit does not want to part from his comrades.

July also marks the anxious wait for exam results among students. During this time, I received good news from friends about their children passing university entrance exams. I was especially delighted to read the heartfelt thank-you messages from students to a dear friend of mine, a literature teacher. The teacher-student bond is so warm and cherished. Even now, I still feel a surge of joy when my son shared the news of his university acceptance. The struggles of long days of studying together with him seem to fade away. The university exam teaches young people that there are challenges one must face alone. Whether successful or not, these experiences make us mature at an important juncture in life.

July comes with both sunny and rainy days. One morning, as I headed to work, the sky was clear and blue, and the heat was at its peak. But just a few blocks away, the rain suddenly poured down heavily. I took shelter in a quiet café and, looking up, saw a rainbow forming between the sunshine and rain. I remembered a time after the university exam when a group of friends and I sat by West Lake, watching the rain. Then, a rainbow appeared, and one friend said: “My grandmother used to say, if you look at the rainbow and make a wish, it will come true.” So, all of us eagerly looked at the rainbow and silently made a wish. Every time I see a rainbow now, I silently ask: “Does anyone still remember the wish we made that July?”

Hanoi keeps a mark of love in every season with its flowers that evoke fond memories. In July, the sunflowers bloom brightly in the streets. The golden color of the flowers brings vitality and symbolizes fulfillment and success. Perhaps that's why people born in July are often gifted sunflowers by friends and family. July is also the birthday month of many dear ones. It’s often thought that those born in the summer are lively and full of character. However, according to folk beliefs, those born in July possess a deep inner life, are harmonious in their behavior, and always care about the feelings of others. They are also very loyal. Therefore, meeting someone born in July is a fortunate blessing, and one should cherish it.

In July, Hanoi not only has sunflowers but also the quiet Xà Cừ flowers, which bloom in summer yet are little known. The Xà Cừ trees are planted on many streets in Hanoi. These trees shed their leaves in late spring and early summer. After changing their leaves, delicate, small yellow-white flowers bloom on the green branches. One morning, while running on a familiar street, I was surprised to notice these small flowers, gently falling with the wind, landing on people's clothes and hair. The Xà Cừ flowers remind me of carefree school days, when my friends and I would chase each other around the large Xà Cừ trees at school. On the last day of the school year, we secretly carved our names on the tree bark near the school gate. I wonder if anyone still cherishes these school memories.

July's rains fall gently through the night, making me long for distant memories. There are heroic memories of our nation that fill us with pride and should never be forgotten. There are moments of joy and sorrow, the sunshine and rain of life that accumulate through the years. And there are treasured relationships that remain strong through time.

Vy Anh

Dedicated to the soul of martyr Bui Van Binh and his comrades!

The ancient citadel of Quang Tri is not just beautiful or tragic, nor is it unique to Quang Tri’s fires of war. It is a haze—a reflection of how the young perceive the past, casting its shadow on the future.

I first learned of the Quang Tri citadel when reading the last letter my uncle sent home. My mother always kept these letters neatly folded in her suitcase. Perhaps my uncle rests there, never to return. Martyr Bui Van Binh, just in his twenties.

To me, it matters not whether war is irrational or inhumane. War is simply about preventing those who leave from ever returning. Yes, war is merciless.

One afternoon in Quang Tri, one lost afternoon, as smoke and incense drifted in fiery forms. I trembled as the golden moon rose, pushing the sunset into the remnants of cannonball scars etched into the brick walls nearby.

Unless you visit Quang Tri, it’s hard to imagine the devastation wrought by bombs. Not a wall, not even a single brick remained intact. Only the fortress walls of the citadel stood firm, bearing the scars of destruction from relentless bombings.

I understand, it’s because of sacrifices, including the blood of my uncle, the blood of soldiers spilled within the Citadel and across the southern battlefield, that the victory for the nation was achieved. Over forty years later, despite the war receding, the wounds in the hearts of the children of Vietnam are still unhealed.

"Dear Grandparents: It has been over a month since I began my journey on the Long March. This is the fourth letter I’ve written to you. Perhaps, from now on, I won’t have the chance to write anymore. But I always think of home, of you, of my parents and siblings. For the sake of our people’s cause, I have set out to fight... Please do not worry, and mother, take care of your health, so that one day, I can return and live again with the love of my parents..."

As I walked around the citadel walls, I pieced together my uncle’s loving words in the letters he sent home to my grandparents and parents. The ink and handwriting faded with time, but the youthful emotions still rang out amidst the chaos of the battlefield. I looked up at the moss-covered arches, still lost in their gaze, the pain of the Citadel palpable.

The Citadel has dried up the wounds, yet on days when the wind turns, the grass seems to ache with memories, while time and the smell of gunpowder seem to have forever left their mark. Eighty-one days and nights of fire and blood, eighty-one days and nights of mothers' hearts torn like blades, eighty-one days and nights of the homeland lighting fires to guide children back home.

The Citadel of Quang Tri, when I visited, was at peace under a blanket of green. It stood beside the Thach Han River, whose waters still whispered the distant cries of soldiers interrupted by the explosive sounds of war.

"Dear parents, we must urgently march to the battlefield. Every moment counts as we approach the most intense, decisive stage of the battle to defeat the Americans…"

Looking at my uncle’s slanted handwriting, the words still echoed with emotion, like hot embers from time, the Citadel, blood, and homeland. I pray that love will guide the way, that the dawn over the Citadel will glow with light, and that the Thach Han River, each night, will send lanterns drifting to soothe the spirits of those who have passed, those whose bones are now part of the soil, and those whose souls still smile in the afterlife.

I walk among the daily stream of people here to remember, their murmured prayers filling the air, mingled with incense smoke that stings the eyes, and the reminder of countless bullet holes in the walls. But I am certain that in the hearts of all, the river flows endlessly. Unconsciously, I remember a verse by poet Le Ba Duong:

Gently row the boat down the Thach Han
The riverbed still holds my friend
In his twenties, now part of the waves
Forever calming the shore for a thousand years…

The Thach Han River is the longest and most beautiful river in Quang Tri province. It originates from the eastern side of the Truong Son Mountains. The river flows from the east and northeast, meets the Rào Quán River, and heads east before turning north, meeting the Cam Lo River at the Da Do junction before once again heading east towards the Vietnam Yen estuary.

Even now, the Thach Han River remains a vital waterway for Quang Tri Province. It was the site of fierce battles during the wars against France and the U.S., its waters carrying the weight of the blood and sacrifice of soldiers who fell for the nation’s freedom. Oh, Vietnam!

To honor the thousands of martyrs who gave their lives on the Thach Han River, during festivals and holidays, people release lanterns on the riverbanks to pay tribute to these heroes. The "Night of Lanterns" festival, held on the 14th day of each lunar month, represents the deep-rooted tradition of remembering those who gave their all for our country’s freedom.

One night in Quang Tri, one night at the Citadel, one night by the Thach Han, I read my uncle’s letter, still captured in my phone, and it felt as though he were standing right here. The sky is pale, the river glistens, the walls of the fortress stand silent, the lanterns smile. I see a procession of soldiers returning, the drums call, the moon rises over the gates, the mossy walls beckon. I look at the Citadel, lost, forever lost…

Ho Huy

The history of Vietnam's heroic resistance against foreign invaders, which includes the determination and courage of the martyrs, willing to sacrifice their lives to protect the nation, is not only a source of national pride but also serves as an inspiring example for the younger generations to follow in their efforts to build and defend the country in the era of industrialization and modernization.

On the occasion of the 72nd anniversary of War Invalids and Martyrs' Day (July 27, 1946 – July 27, 2019), with the principle of “Drinking water, remembering its source,” our group of former soldiers visited the Quang Tri Citadel, Truong Son Cemetery, and Road 9 Cemetery. These are places where thousands of heroic martyrs sacrificed their lives to defend the country and restore freedom, independence, and unity for the nation. Our generation, born during the war, lived through a time of intense conflict, witnessing comrades fall for the survival of the nation. It was a great loss for the entire Vietnamese people during the war to resist American aggression. It was a time when “The sons and daughters, as beautiful as roses, as strong as iron, separated without shedding a tear…”. When we visited the Quang Tri Citadel, the sight of the Thach Han River flowing gently brought back deep emotions in us veterans. Over 40 years have passed, and although the country is free from foreign invaders, the blood and bones of tens of thousands of soldiers, our brave comrades, remain here. Most of them were young students, leaving their university campuses to fight at the Quang Tri Citadel. They fought valiantly and sacrificed their lives, their blood mingling with the earth, trees, and grass at the citadel and in the heart of the Thach Han River. Veteran Le Ba Duong, upon returning to the battlefield, stood silently by the river and called out to the boats drifting by: “Boats drifting on Thach Han, please row gently/ The riverbed still holds my friend/ At twenty years old, they became waves/ Calm the shore forever more...”. Nguyen Anh Tri, when revisiting the citadel, was deeply moved and said: “The green grass, the green grass/ Do not be indifferent to those who sacrificed”… It fills me with pride to think of a generation who “Sacrificed to ensure the nation’s survival.” After leaving the Quang Tri Citadel, we went to the Truong Son Martyrs Cemetery. As soon as we arrived, all the material temptations, selfishness, pettiness, and the daily struggles of life faded away, replaced by the immense loss and sacrifice of the martyrs. I wished I could personally light incense for all the comrades here to honor their spirits, those who died for independence, freedom, unity, and the peaceful, prosperous life we now enjoy. Among the millions of martyrs, some graves bear names and hometowns, maintained by relatives who visit and honor their memories. However, there are also thousands of unnamed graves, without names or hometowns, scattered across the Truong Son mountains or the vast oceans. All of them are nameless martyrs, their identities unknown, evoking in me deep sorrow. Yet, their names and heroic deeds are inseparable from the great history and pride of the Vietnamese people. How can I possibly light incense for all of them? Their “military camps” are too vast, and time does not permit. Therefore, I offer my incense in spirit to all the martyrs, my comrades, hoping they rest in peace and their souls find tranquility. The noble sacrifice of these heroes will forever be remembered by the Vietnamese people. Their deep love for the country, courageous fighting spirit, and noble sacrifices serve as a valuable lesson for future generations to follow as examples and learn from.

Visiting the Quang Tri Citadel, Truong Son National Martyrs Cemetery, and Road 9, standing before the countless graves of known and unknown martyrs arranged in rows, I felt a deep, sacred emotion rising within me. My soul was cleansed of selfish thoughts about material wealth, fame, and money, leaving behind the distractions of life to focus on the highest ideals of life: “Truth, Goodness, Beauty.” I would like to conclude this piece by quoting the Russian writer N. OSTROVSKI: “The most precious thing for a person is life. We live only once. We must live in a way that we have no regrets for the years that passed in vain, that we are not ashamed of our petty, cowardly past, so that when we close our eyes, we can say: All my life, all my strength, I have dedicated to the noblest cause in the world, the struggle for human liberation...”

11/07/2019

Vo Hoang Nam.

The final days of July bring a surge of emotions to the people of Vietnam. A mix of longing, affection, gratitude, pride, and deep belief fills our hearts as we reflect on the martyrs and veterans across the country. We all understand that the independence and freedom we have today came at the cost of countless sacrifices — sweat, blood, and tears shed on our homeland’s soil. Many heroes have fallen in deep forests and distant mountains, on remote islands and seas. Some returned wounded, leaving parts of their bodies behind on the battlefield...

The 27th of July has echoed as a sorrowful melody for 74 years. It is a day we cannot forget, nor are we allowed to forget!

On the 27th of July, many families observe the day as a memorial to the martyrs, not knowing the exact date their loved ones perished. My family is among them. Even those who know the specific date their loved one died still mark this day with incense and offerings, treating it as a collective day of remembrance for those who sacrificed their youth for the nation's freedom and independence.

I am haunted by a story I’ve heard over the years. Every year on War Invalids and Martyrs’ Day, the entire village of Thach Tan, in Tam Thang, Tam Ky, Quang Nam Province, gathers to honor their fallen. At that time, the village had 262 households, 203 of which were martyrs, 59 were heroic Vietnamese mothers, 18 were family members of martyrs, 8 were war veterans, and 12 were affected by Agent Orange. Some martyrs’ deaths are unknown, others' remains are still lost, so the villagers chose July 27th to pay tribute. This is a time for the living to reflect on their roots and to remember those who fell, as well as a time to remind future generations of the noble traditions left behind by our ancestors.

During this time, we often see youth in uniforms from various organizations at martyrs’ cemeteries, cleaning, repairing, lighting incense, and offering flowers to the fallen heroes. The incense, pink lotuses, and flickering candles serve as the deepest tribute to those who gave their lives for the nation and its people. In a quiet corner of a cemetery, somewhere in our country, there is still the image of an elderly mother, frail and wrinkled, gently touching the grave of her child. The haunting melody of the song “Three times I bid you farewell/ Twice I cry silently/ You never returned/ And the mother remains silent…” (The Country - Pham Minh Tuan) echoes in my mind. How can we remain unmoved when witnessing such scenes?

Years have passed since the war, but its impact still lingers around us. Countless soldiers left for a greater cause, yet still cannot return to their homeland and loved ones. “The boat sails on Thach Han… row gently/ The riverbed still holds my friend/ At twenty years old, they became waves/ Calming the shore, forevermore…” (Song of the River - Le Ba Duong) — this verse expresses the longing and aching hearts of the living, still searching for their fallen comrades. It is not just the comrades of the fallen soldiers who mourn, but millions of families across the country — grandparents, parents, spouses, children — who can never see their beloved again. We know that war is brutal, full of bloodshed, loss, and separation, but without these immortal sacrifices, how could the nation have been reborn?

In recent years, efforts to recover the remains of martyrs, to build and maintain cemeteries and memorials, have received the attention of all levels of government and society. The “Paying Tribute to Martyrs” movement has become a regular activity for the government, various organizations, and society as a whole, reflecting the beautiful cultural heritage of the Vietnamese people.

In this sacred time of July, we offer our deepest feelings and sincere gratitude to the Heroic Vietnamese Mothers, war veterans, families of martyrs, and all who have served the nation! We pay tribute to the martyrs who gave their lives for the independence and freedom of our country. They are the pink lotus flowers, forever fragrant with their sacrifice..!

Manh Thuong

To achieve the nation's independence and freedom, countless sweat, blood, and tears have been shed on our homeland. Many brave sons and daughters fell, while others returned broken...

Although many years have passed since the war, its consequences remain ever-present. To secure the nation’s freedom, so many lives were sacrificed, and many soldiers returned disfigured, forever bearing the scars of war... Millions of martyrs' families, parents, spouses, children, are forever separated from their loved ones.

Heartfelt songs still echo, like “Three times I bid you farewell/ Twice I silently weep/ You never returned/ And the mother stays silent…” and verses full of deep emotions for those who “lie down” for the country: “The boat on Thach Han sails gently / The riverbed still holds my friend/ At twenty years old, they became waves/ Calming the shore, forever more…” These words stir every heart when recalling the time of war.

To honor these immense sacrifices, for the past 68 years, our Party and government have implemented policies to support those with merit, both materially and spiritually. Besides providing allowances, the state has successfully carried out various supportive measures, such as housing assistance, vocational training, employment for veterans and their children, healthcare services, and active participation in raising awareness of policies for those who contributed to the revolution. Efforts to search for and return the remains of martyrs, along with building and maintaining cemeteries and memorials, have been prioritized by all levels of government and society. The movement to “Repay the debt of gratitude” has become a regular, vital part of Vietnamese culture.

Although much has been accomplished, we still cannot fully repay the sacrifices of the heroes, veterans, and martyrs who gave their entire lives and their very existence for the nation's independence, freedom, and the happiness of the people. July has arrived! During these days, the nation’s war cemeteries, whether large or small, are filled with visitors paying their respects, offering incense as a symbol of gratitude to those who sacrificed their lives for the country’s liberation. At national cemeteries like Truong Son and the National Martyrs’ Cemetery, as well as countless others across the country, standing before rows of graves, tracing the names, places of origin, enlistment dates, and dates of death, an overwhelming sense of emotion rises, making it hard to hold back tears. It is almost impossible not to feel the sting of sorrow as tears fall silently.

During these sacred days in July, let us visit these cemeteries and reflect, knowing that what we understand about the just war of our nation is just a fraction of the immense suffering our ancestors endured. We should take pride in the sacrifices made by these martyrs who gave their lives for the peace and freedom of our country. Let us visit and feel the nation’s love, and let it recharge us with energy, reminding us to live better, to be worthy of the sacrifices made by our forebears...

On July 27th, many families observe the day as a memorial for those unknown martyrs. Some families, even when they know the exact date of their loved one's death, still honor the day with incense and offerings, turning it into a collective day of remembrance for those who sacrificed their lives for the people and the nation’s independence and freedom.

July 27th is a day we must never forget!

We offer our deepest gratitude to the Heroic Vietnamese Mothers, war veterans, martyrs' families, and those who have served the nation! We pay tribute to the martyrs who sacrificed their blood and bones for the nation’s independence and freedom!

Kim Thanh

On the 27th of July each year, I join my husband's family to honor my grandfather at the local cemetery. His grave is simple, with just his name and year of death etched on the stone. These are the remnants of a time long before my birth, and the war I only know through the stories told by the older generations.

The graves, all painted in white, stand neatly in rows. They belong to the sons of my homeland who perished on the battlefields in the South, their families bringing back what remained of their bodies to rest here. As I read the carved dates of birth and death, I realize the youth left behind in every tomb. These were young soldiers, barely eighteen or twenty years old, who gave their lives in their prime. Each grave represents a life, a story—one of love, unspoken or shared, known by the villagers.

The grave of Nguyễn Văn Duật lies beside my grandfather's. He had been married for only seven days when war called him away. He had no time to settle matters of the heart, as his country needed him. With the dust of war rising around him, he clutched a handkerchief and a photograph of his wife against his chest. Fearful that the slippery roads would cause them to fall, he pinned them with a safety pin, determined to keep them close. Yet, war is ruthless and spared no one. Duật fell in battle, leaving behind a wife who had waited for his return. He never knew she was carrying their child. The final letter she wrote went undelivered before he was lost. Their son grew up never knowing his father, his only memory a faded photograph and an obituary.

Finding his remains was a long and challenging journey. His wife and child traveled across former battlefields in Quảng Nam, hoping to find a trace of him. All they had were the whispering trees and flowing rivers. His body had long become part of the earth, and the search seemed hopeless. But they kept the faith, and eventually, a witness named Chú Tha, a comrade who had fought alongside him, revealed the location of the trench where Duật had fallen. After days of digging, a small handful of bones was unearthed. Incredibly, the handkerchief and photograph of his wife were found, still in a plastic bag, pinned by the rusted safety pin. His wife wept uncontrollably—reunited, yet the moment was bittersweet. She held the remains, as if trying to reclaim the love she once held. The eucalyptus trees whispered in the wind, mourning the reunion of the living with the lost.

Duật was brought home once more, and his return was marked by a solemn ceremony in the village cemetery. He was reunited with his fellow soldiers, their graves side by side. Cigarettes were placed on the graves, and the smoke lingered, as if bridging the divide between the living and the dead. It was as though the fallen soldiers had gathered for a brief moment of reunion.

Each grave holds a story—of lives lived, loves cherished, and dreams unfulfilled. In the distance, another grave stands—Chú Toan’s. He, too, was from my village, and he loved a woman named Mận. Before leaving for war, he promised her he would return, and they would meet again, their reunion symbolized in the folk song “Mời Trầu.” But Toan fell at the ancient citadel in Quảng Trị, never to return. His remains were brought back after the war and reburied in the village cemetery. Mận never remarried, choosing instead to raise an adopted child and remain faithful to her first love. Her hair has turned gray, but Toan’s grave still holds the youth he lost. Lighting incense at his grave, she whispers, ‘I’ve grown old, but you will forever remain young.’ Her voice trembles in the evening air, as if the weight of the years cannot alter the love that remains.

My village, like so many others across this land, has a cemetery. And there are countless unnamed soldiers whose remains never returned to a grave. Yet their families remember them, and we, the children of those generations, carry their memory. The war still lingers in the stories our elders tell, in the faces of those around us. I light incense in remembrance of those soldiers, my heart filled with reverence and sorrow. In the misty cemetery on this July evening, the memory of those who gave everything for their country lives on.

Nguyễn Thanh Nga