Lying at night, listening to the waves,

it’s cold on both shores of the great ocean.

Lying at night, listening to the rising wind,

feeling the chill of a refugee life.

Who knows when I will return

to my homeland, thousands of miles away.

Is Mother still standing by the doorstep

with hair like tresses of clouds, waiting

for the day her child returns to his old home

to rekindle the hearth with a red flame,

to warm the hearts with compassion, 

to tend to the old garden,

and waits for the flowers to bloom.

I wonder if in that distant place,

the sun still shines brightly,

the river still flows with memories,

and the clouds still retain their former green hue?

And do you still wear the white dress

while walking over the bridge with a tilted hat?

Your smile is like the sunshine,

warm as the morning dew.

Do you still keep

the dreams we had at the beginning?

I dream of the day of return,

shaking off the dreams of lake-and-river wandering,

returning to the old garden,

and hold on to memories under the old moon.

Embracing the dreams of the past,

Love and longing never part.

By your side, I softly say:

Through the wandering days,

the heart remembers the way back.

my heart – a pink lotus flower

blooming in the garden of you, in tranquility.

T. H. D.

English translation by Vuong Thanh, 12.2023