The poet Hoang Cam has many good poems, in which the best I am in the other side of the Duong River. "Dear sad, giving me to the other side of the street, the old white sand is flat on the sparkling line Resistance to the United States ... "My house was located next to Ben Ba River
. Until now I didn't understand why there was this name because no one would explain. And the person who can know is lost. In my memory of Ben Giao River, it lies at the end of the village, going down the slope is a vast sandy beach
I stood by this side of the side of the surface of the immense water between the waves of waves to look at the sore, someday that it was enough to close the banana friends to row away, performing the adventure of childhood. But then this dream I didn't do it because I soon left my hometown to Saigon to study in high school. My Control River is like the Duong River Hoang Cam, there are also two banks going through one The long war is not only anti-French but to the US against America. Time I was tiny, listening to my cheek to tell the whole family to run the enemy on the boat across the river. I was thirsty without soft drinks to drink, my grandfather alone paddle the river's river on the house took the house without a fear of death, not afraid of being caught by the enemy. Time to beat America, I left the village to Saigon to study, my grandfather lost a long time ago, the whole village also ran the enemy over the other side of the river, when the soldiers pulled away the new villagers and returned. Growing up according to my cheeks and still didn't imagine how my grandfather's face was. After April 30, 1975, I returned home to my homeland, also following my cheeks to tell, I joined my siblings to find a grave of my grandfather I bury my sketchy in the war, bringing it back on the land , built for Mr. Moi Mu Trinh, beautifully considered to trimmed a thanked grandfather who didn't regret his lives rowing over the river in the bullet fire, bringing me a piece of freshwater from the days. Small, but when I stayed in my summer, I still went to bathe on the Ben Giao river, so the image of the river was a bold anniversary in my soul, my nostalgia
From this side the river wants to cross the other side of the river to go to the paddle, sanging rather than a machine but must follow the water, the tide up and down during the day. But maybe when the canoe comes to the middle of the river with a big wind, the big wave is unexpected if not experienced, firmly, canoe caps upside. However, for our children that day, big waves, big winds are not bothering. We, the two children often serve bananas through fishing, catch birds, conquer the river easily because everyone knows like otters. The day I returned, to the river harbor, the old sandy beach was no longer available, people have taken the sand from ever, only inert the muddy. I remember the old road to the inter-provincial road, the bus Run one, two trips, so people go to the province, especially buy and sell goods to focus on booths. The boat came or came back, paired close to the edge of the water, landing. Now show the plastic straight, the bus, the bus runs half an hour apart. Only people are on the river and you buy and sell new products but have to ask for a cross. The boat does not close the edge of the water, but it must be parked so far, so there is a transshipment. Still the side of the sidebum. I am on this side of the inside that there is no sandy beach for children to play, for you, you went to the river, washing water, washing, for men and women to meet each other in the morning moon nights The river has no souls anymore. Now, on the empty land right at the top of the slope on the sandy beach, there was a place to buy and sell the construction materials that were crowned, brick, stone, iron, cement, sand ... Trucks, farming cars often carry materials Building backwards, plowing the shout of the commune, disturbing the tranquility of the village's tranquility under the criminals of the stock. The river loses all the poetry, pale and souls and charm. Each time back to his hometown, standing at the river, I am sad and wondering why the river is still a two-sofa Up and down the row of my hometown. Still when the wind is blown across the river with alluvials into the heads of silver. Still the goods in the old water edge, I just went to the water, why now the muddy is no longer the golden sandy beach My childhood lunches with lines, the crops and crickets catch crickets. The morning dreams chase along the flood with endless race. Still the river than the river with the recollection, emotions are full of children but the river now as old as the old burden of time, according to the life of life, according to the tornado of the market should have no souls of the village river intact an old childhood? From the wall . Dịch vụ:
Thiết kế website,
quảng cáo google,
đăng ký website bộ công thương uy tín
