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Thơ Song NgữQuê Hương Tôi |
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Trần Đình Ngọc
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Em hỏi anh, quê hương là gì nhỉ? Là con đường khúc khuỷu vết chân trâu Là ao cần, ao muống nước thật sâu Ngàn thửa ruộng lúa vừa xanh con gái!
Gà, vịt, ngỗng, ngan, chó, mèo, heo nái! Ðàn bồ câu đậu trên mái nhà ai Là gầu sòng với những chiếc gầu dai Dăm thanh nữ tát nước vào ruộng mạ!
Nông phu đổ mồ hôi trong nắng Hạ! Chịu mưa dầm, gió bấc lạnh mùa Ðông Cày bừa xong ta lo cấy, lo trồng Với sức người, gạo cơm từ sỏi đá!
Rồi ruộng đồng chỉ còn trơ xác rạ! Lúa vào bồ, thóc đã quảy về sân Ðêm trăng thanh giã gạo nhịp đều chân Cạnh cái cối ù ù xay thóc mới!
Chiều, bên hiên có mẹ hiền đứng đợi Trống tan trường, tôi rảo bước về mau Gặp cha tôi bao sương nắng giãi dầu Nuôi đàn con, cố công lo gầy dựng!
Ðây nếp nhà gỗ táu, lim rất vững Cạnh hàng cau có bể lớn nước mưa - Gà gáy rồi, bố con dậy hay chưa? Hôm nay có thợ gặt, thợ vò lúa!
Quê hương là điệu hò, trai gái múa! Rộn rã, tươi vui trong vũ điệu Xuân Hình ảnh quê hương rõ nét thật gần Trong đám lá xanh, nụ sen trắng muốt.
Quê hương là tiếng sáo diều réo rắt Là khóm tre, khóm trúc mọc ven đình Tà áo dài mầu nâu nhạt rất xinh Thôn nữ, nón bài thơ hong nắng mới!
Thi sĩ tựa thành cầu bồn chồn đợi Ngóng người yêu quên tuốt hết vần thơ Nước sông trôi trong vắt khẽ lặng lờ Ðám lục bình với chùm hoa trắng tím!
Chiều nhạt nắng khói xây thành tím rịm Bên mâm cơm đoàn tụ cả gia đình Mâm gỗ, đũa tre, chồng bát thật xinh Tuy thanh đạm nhưng có hồn ấp ủ!
Chỉ có thế nhưng lòng tôi tự nhủ: Chẳng nơi nào hơn nơi chốn quê hương Như còn nghe tiếng võng mẹ :” Bé thương! Ngủ ngoan nhé! À ơi! Ngoan nhé Bé!”
TRẦN ÐÌNH NGỌC
MY NATIVE COUNTRY
Let me ask you a question: “What is the native country?” It’s simple. It’s the rough, small village roads deteriorated by the feet of dozens of water-buffaloes. It’s also some deep ponds full of vegetables, “muong” and celery. And it’s also thousands of rice-fields full of green rice plants.
There are chickens, ducks, swans, hogs, and a flock of pigeons that perches on the red tile roof of a house. There are also country girls who are using some small baskets to bring water from the river to their rice-fields.
The farmers sweat when they work in summer. However they shiver in the wind and cold rain in winter. When the fields are ready, they plant rice and other grains. With human effort, the food for tomorrow is from today’s hard work.
After the harvest, the paddy is in the stores; the fields are still full of stubble. Now the people want to make rice from the new paddy. The moon in the sky seems to be rounder and brighter.
As usual, my mother is waiting for me in the verandah of our house, knowing that when the school drum sounds dismissal, I’ll be home very soon. Even at my young age, I also realize that my father works very hard for my brothers, sisters and me, too. He strives to form us into good citizens. He’s expected it since we were very young.
Our nest is a beautiful house built with hard-wood and red tiles. In front of our house, there are several areca palm trees standing by the small cistern of pure rain water In the morning of the harvest time, my mother wakes us up, saying:” Wake up! Wake up! Today, I have a lot of cutters for our rice fields.”
The native country is also some songs to which the young men and women dance with when spring has came. It is also on the green leaves and the white lotus in some lakes.
It is still the sounds of the instrument carried on the kite. It’s also the bushes of green bambooes planted by the village community house. There are country girls with beautiful, light-brown long dresses and hats shading them from the new spring sunshine.
The poet is standing by the rail of the bridge, awaiting his sweetheart. He is so touched that he forgets all his poetic rhymes. In the river, water is transparent and moving a little making some flowering duckweeds move, too.
In the late afternoon, grey smoke and purple clouds make a picture of a high citadel in the sky. All members of the families are there to enjoy dinner together. Life is so happy! Food, chopsticks and bowls are so simple but they seem to have a soul in them,
That’s all about my native country but I always tell myself, “There is no place like my native country.” Sometimes, I still hear my mother’s voice in my mind: ”My darling! Sleep well and be good!”
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