Y Nhi

Quang Binh

The train has left;
its whistle blows carelessly.
Gray smoke fades along the lines of trees and reeds,
disappears over the uncountable sections of red earth,
pine trees, rice paddies.

Only I can recognize the face of Quang Binh,
suddenly realize this land so close to my heart.
After so much absence, so much silence, no promises to return;
my mind in tumult realizes this land is truly mine.

I understand my feelings now all those months and years
through all the rivers, forests, cities,
through the farewells, the meetings,
finally I am come back to that place that is my own.

I come back to the sand caves where winds still blow hard,
where at eighteen, younger brother, you died,
to where bombs fell, and Dong Hoi citadel stood in silence,
to where patched roads in tattered clothes as your hair
yellowed with illness.

I come back to the sandy hill that had no trees for cover,
where the harsh sunlight beat down on the old ramparts,
where, elder brother, you raised your voice softly above the grass
where your eyes turned slowly, vacantly toward the horizon.

I come back to the home of my youth,
To the cup of sim-leaf juice at Quang Trach in the afternoon,
To the night by the sea, waiting for the boat, sleepless, tense,
Misjudging how he wind changed course by the bank of pine trees,
feet trampling over the thorns and pebbles
and white reed flowers leaning after dark shadows of men
and the deep purple chac chiu, red peonies,
the troops returning, the familiar yellow grass.
You said something, younger brother, in your black uniform.
I melted into the colors, the sights, the sounds,
part worried, part expectant, part anxious,
the colors flying passionately before the troops.
Through the long night we could hear the enemy guns firing
on the Southern banks,
our hearts flowed back to the head of the Ben Hai River.
To where the land opened up beneath our patient feet.
That purple blue sky, our eyes could never see enough of it.
That time when we had faith, when love was steadfast,
when our open palms met the open palms of our friends.

For a moment I see clearly
things not east to see in the midst of life,
things of weight and gravity.
I've come back to my homeland, the land of my birth.
The train has gone, leaving me alone at the station
I step onto the land, truly my land at last.