Mourning Mr. Bính

My teacher, sweet and gentle as the old plum tree in the village,
Morning and night taught children in the countryside.
His wife, lovely and virtuous,
Cared for him; they lived a happy life!

As a small child, I was his student,
ABC, I learned to trace and draw.   
Leaving the village for higher education
I had not returned to visit since then.

Abruptly one day, winter turned bleak and clouds saddened
As news came: my teacher departed,
Some bullet had punctured his heart!
Bright blood flowed, heedlessly soaking the grass!
Soft, green blades turned to red mass.
His wife knelt down at his side,
Face covered in mourning white!...

Dratted war!
Wherefrom have you come,
That in your wake lay scattered flesh and bones?

I beg you now to cease your ugly slaughter,
So parents no longer weep for son or daughter,
Husbands and wives are no longer parted.

On both sides, dear heroic soldiers
Of same Origin, we are all brothers,
So why has rivalry turned to brutality?
Why not compete by building the country?
Since ancient time, war has brought but sorrow,
Fertile fields turned burial grounds.

Let us stop this insensible hatred,
Grass has dried over thousands of tombs.
What does one get in the end,
Being enemies instead of friends?
"One general came back with medallions Ten thousand men turned dry skeletons!"

In memory of Mr. Bính Central Âu Lạc (Vietnam) - 1965