Starting from the sadness of clouds
from the loss of heart
from the perfidy of words
from the silence of crying
from the muteness of the bare hills’ nights
Starting from the thirst of the abandoned haystacks
from the old buffalo’s remembrance of faraway plough-fields.

Embracing the aspiration of the comet’s tail
We hide a little bit of native sunlight in the pocket
As a heirloom for a future return!

Miles and miles of snow in a foreign land pinched and burned our alien feet
Our hands, skilled with the plough, were frozen with the steering-wheel in the polar zone
Gusts after gusts of mistral distended our lungs.

Starting from the realm of green dreams
Then wandering as far as the eyes can see
We become a minority among ethnic minorities!

Forever to silence the sounds of native waves
Into the distant ricefields of childhood
Into the wearing-out of songs, into the thinning of lullabies
Into the sunlight of old days without a shore of echoing.

Translated by Nguyen Tien Van.