I could not choose to be a child of the President of France
or a grandchild in direct line of the King of Brunei
I could not choose my birthplace in Thailand or America
I am a Cham since the first cry in life
(more than that: nine months and ten days before the first cry)
Either when I am rooted here
Or when I wander to the last horizon
I am still a Cham, even when I burn up with the pyre at the end of life.

Be joyful when we are forgotten by history
Be joyful when we survive
Be joyful when we still could shake hands, kiss, and drink in the evening.

It’s fortunate that we have our heads, bodies, and four limbs intact
More fortunate that we still have parents, siblings, and friends
If by mishap something is lacking, we are still happier than the dead.

Raise your cups to congratulate us, the children of light and darkness in accomplice
The children grown up from the fragments of a recycled civilization
The children of sunset and of dawn.

The culture of Champa is a culture of play
Playful even in sufferings.

The Lu River with ricefields in my native land
Is like the god Shiva with the world
Shiva creates and destroys
The Lu River causes floods and nourishes alluvial soil
When the Lu River is rectified in a program
It ceases to cause floods
But gives alluvial soil no more.

Hundred springs flow down
Hundred haughty springs fancy about the formation of a great river
But each arrogant green spring spends itself in the middle of a hill.

The bitter soil under feet remains unturned
I has always been waiting for a sweet harvest from the sky.

My Panduranga is dry and thirsty in four seasons
A storm in your region means a rain in mine
Even with a good harvest of corn and beans I still feel at a loss
Please come to my land, maybe auspicious weather would follow your heels.

After the Purification Festival in April this year
Even the weak sparrow and the most humble ant
Will have room for living and playing
Either you have faith, or nothing.

In the middle of this rich, immoderate world, the whole of poetry could not save us
In this poor, miserable world, even a poetic line could save us
Either you have faith, or nothing.

I am sad hence I am living
I am still writing means I still love
When I stop loving I am dead.

Translated by Nguyễn Tiến Văn.