Top 9 Best Poems About Mothers by Poet Trần Đăng Khoa

Clink clank, clink clank

Clink clank, clink clank

My hands swing evenly

In the small three-room house

Filled with the sound of the cradle swing

Clink clank, clink clank

The vast summer noon

The bird naps with its feet tucked

Dimly resting on the bamboo branch

Clink clank, clink clank

The custard apple tree is drowsy

The custard apple's eyes slowly open

Staring at the clear blue sky

Clink clank, clink clank

The cradle swings evenly

Outside the window, birds

Pecking the sound of the cradle swing

Clink clank, clink clank

Long ago, mother lulled me

With the same cradle song

The white stork's wings

Flying – flying – flying…

Clink clank, clink clank

Little Giang is asleep now

Her hair flowing gently

A faint smile rests upon her face...

In her dream, she meets a stork

Wading along the riverbank

She meets a butterfly

Wide and vast, wide and vast

She meets the figure of her mother

Hunched over in the fields

Meets the soldier

Watching the sunny sky

Sleep, my dear

My hands swing evenly

In the small three-room house

Filled with the sound of the cradle swing

Clink clank, clink clank

Clink clank, clink clank

Clink clank...

...clink clank.

1967

Source: Trần Đăng Khoa, Góc sân và khoảng trời, NXB Văn hóa dân tộc, 1999

Betel betel leaf leaf

You are my master

I am your master

If I don't pluck you in the day

I'll do it at night

(A song from my grandmother)

Are you asleep, betel leaf?

I haven't gone to sleep yet

Why are you already sleeping?

My grandmother just arrived

She wants to ask for some leaves

I'm not just anyone

Waking you up to pluck!

Betel leaf, wake up

Open your green eyes

Which leaves do you want to give me?

Show them to me, please

I'll pluck them gently

I won't hurt you...

Are you awake now, betel leaf?

I’ll pluck a few leaves

For grandmother and mother

Don't wilt away, betel leaf!

1966

Source: Trần Đăng Khoa, Góc sân và khoảng trời, NXB Văn hóa dân tộc, 1999

My mother spent her entire life journeying through distant fields

Searching for the moonlight from centuries ago

That could illuminate the skin of a young girl

She crossed countless mountain peaks

And wandered through forests and dreamlike streams

Choosing the most beautiful flowers

To shape the sweet scent of her lips

Then, she ventured through the lands of young women

Gathering every beautiful trait, every charm

Seeking out eternal tenderness

To shape the figure of her child

She gave her angel to a poor man

And that’s how her child became the wealthiest man on earth...

1998

Source: Trần Đăng Khoa, Thơ tình tuyển, NXB Hội nhà văn, 2001

July 15, 1979

Dear Mother in the village

Mother,

I am flying high in the sky

Like the prince in the stories you once told me

In front of me is a calm green dome

Just as green as the roof of our home...

I know that this afternoon, beside the tangle of chrysanthemums

You’ll be looking up here

As you always do when the sun sets

But surely, you can't imagine that your little boy

The one who was just a speck of earth to you

Is now soaring high in the vast sky

It's true, mother, it's your son

And I'm writing this letter from the window of the airplane

Thinking of you

In my childhood days

I used to lie in the basket

Spread on the dirt ground

You pointed to the endless blue dome

And said that’s the heaven

Where magnificent castles exist

And beautiful, gentle fairies come to comfort people in sorrow

Fairies who plant mulberry trees, weave silk

And sing songs…

Mother, I believe you spoke the truth

But up here, I only meet

The tips of scattered clouds

And a cold emptiness of eternity that chills me

The sky is barren

Like our village field after harvest

Where piles of smoke rise to chase away rats

But it's grander than any field

Still, mother, it's not a field

Because there are no brown robes or bent backs like yours

Mother,

As I gaze out at the green dome

I suddenly see stars wandering like grains of rice in the sky

Each one bright and beautiful

But only the grain of rice that you sifted on the earth

Can truly understand you

Only that rice has nourished me into a man

Who can now soar in the sky…

From the airplane window

I look down at the earth

And suddenly, I’m amazed

I see the same vast green dome of the sky

The white clouds moving slowly below

Like floating mushrooms

But I know behind those clouds

Is a true heaven

Where our home lies, a humble cottage

That’s our castle, mother

In front, the chrysanthemums grow

Behind, the village pond

As the moon rises, the sound of fish splashing can be heard

Here, the fairies sing

And plant rice

They visit us when we are in sorrow

And after each journey of hardship

I will return

To warm myself in your love and care

The cold will melt away

And I will be filled with strength and hope

I’ll laugh loudly like the waves beneath the sky...

1981

Source: Trần Đăng Khoa, Bên cửa sổ máy bay, NXB Tác phẩm mới, 1985

Mother, it’s possible that in this battle

I may fall

Fall as my comrades do

So that the roof of home remains undisturbed

Under the golden sunlight...

And maybe, when morning comes

You’ll find a letter in your hands

Just like many other mothers in the village

A fragile letter

But heavier than a thousand tons of bombs

Weighing down on your aging years

But even so, please don’t cry, Mother

I will not die

Let Mother keep reading Kiều

So that peace returns to our home

Under the shade of the tree at twilight

Let Mother sit by the door waiting for me

Like the old days

When I came home from school every afternoon

And Mother would listen

To the footsteps of little children

Carrying their books, leaning on each other, laughing as they passed by the window

Walking through the peaceful afternoon

And night falls

Filling the house...

Filling the garden...

Filling the sky...

The night is warm, soft like silk

Let Mother not close the door

So the wind can come in

The wind will sing through our home

Songs of the skies and clouds

And Mother will fall asleep without realizing it

Not even knowing

That her son has returned

In the cool breeze

The breeze that has traveled the world

Singing lullabies for mothers without children...

Border, March 18, 1981

Source: Trần Đăng Khoa, From the airplane window, NXB Tác phẩm mới, 1985

Dedicated to Xuân Diệu

The rice of our village

Is filled with the taste of fertile soil

From the Kinh Thầy River

It carries the scent of lotus flowers

In a full water lake

And the songs Mother sings

Sweet, bitter, and full of life...

The rice of our village

Endures July storms

And March rains

Sweat drips down

On scorching June afternoons

The water feels as if it’s been boiled

It kills the fish

Crabs crawl to the shore

Mother goes down to plant...

The rice of our village

Survived the years of American bombings

Falling on our rooftops

Through the years of guns

Carried by those going far away

Through the years of bullet casings

Golden like the rice in the fields

A bowl of rice during harvest

Fragrant with the traffic of the fields...

The rice of our village

Carried by the comrades

In the early mornings fighting drought

Drawing water from the wells

In the midday, plucking pests

The rice growing tall and sharp

In the evening, carrying manure

Spreading earth on the fields...

The rice of our village

Sent to the frontlines

Sent far away

I sing joyfully

The golden rice of our village...

Usually, Mother enjoys playing and laughing

But today, she cannot smile or speak

The areca leaves dry between the betel nut case

The story of Kiều has been closed for a while now

The screen is left ajar all day long

The fields are empty; Mother is not hoeing or plowing anymore

The rain and sun from the old days

Have lingered in her life and still persist

Her whole body aches, burning with fever

Mother, relatives and neighbors have come to visit

Some bring eggs, some bring oranges

And the doctor has brought medicine

This morning, the rain fell heavily

The sun in the ripe fruits gives off a sweet fragrance

After a life of battling wind and storm

Now Mother struggles to walk again

If Mother is happy, nothing else matters to me

I recite poems, tell stories, and dance

Then I perform a play right in the living room

I take on all three roles by myself

For Mother, I endure so much

Around her eyes, there are many wrinkles

I hope Mother gets better each day

To enjoy delicious meals and sleep soundly at night

And then read books and tend the fields again

Mother is my country, my days and nights...

1970

Source: Trần Đăng Khoa, Góc sân và khoảng trời, Nxb Văn hoá dân tộc, 1999

When Mother is away, I boil sweet potatoes

When Mother is away, I help my sister pound rice

When Mother is away, I cook the rice

When Mother is away, I pull weeds from the garden

When Mother is away, I sweep the yard and the gate.

In the morning, Mother comes home and finds the potatoes cooked

By midday, the rice is polished and pure

At noon, the rice is soft and delicious

By evening, the garden is clear of weeds

At night, the gate is sparkling clean.

Mother says: You’ve been so good lately!

– No, Mother! I haven’t been good enough yet

Your rain-drenched coat has faded

Your head is burned by the scorching sun

You work tirelessly day and night

I'm still not good enough, still not good enough!

1967
Author: Trần Đăng Khoa.

Poetry Collection: Góc sân và khoảng trời (1968).

Source: Trần Đăng Khoa, Góc sân và khoảng trời, NXB Văn hoá dân tộc, 1999.