To my love, I’d share our deep sorrow,
Tearful each time April approaches,
Like a bird wailing over homesickness,
Still grieving in exile since 28 years ago.

To my friend, I’d share the loss that we mourn,
Each arrival of April re-injures our old wound.
Oh heaven! It’s been the long 28 years,
My hair turning gray like having soaked in tears.

My love, we are alike as we age,
Still lamenting from being separated,
Still resentfully bewailing the loss of our country,
Still couldn’t smile longing for our birth place.

My friend, we are one in heart and mind,
In that we have a duty to our country,
And that as long as we are alive,
We forever bear the dishonor of being in exile.

Beloved Mother of Viet Nam! Your son is still here.
And though it’s been the long 28 years,
I’m restlessly waiting to return to motherland
To take revenge of the tyrants with my own hands

Hiep B.

April 7 2003