March is back

1. More than a wandering but passionate memory of spring that has just begun to ripen with the sky faintly filled with the purple scent of my hometown's xoan trees and the cotton trees that light fires in the fields after the night of fireflies lighting lamps and scattering seeds of folk songs. I remember, remember a thread of poetry that lingers in my school days when I was no longer so naive. "Fireflies fly out to the red cotton flowers/ Mother at home has put away her cotton coat..." Poet Huu Thinh built a bridge of love for his mother from the tracks of the tanks into the campaign like that. Fireflies. Flashing. Cotton flowers. Anxious. Mother. The old quilted cotton coat that mother wore throughout the cold winter has just been taken off to dry in the sun and put away in a chest.

Xoan Flower (Internet source)

Perhaps, there are many soldiers of my generation who remember their mothers like that. The road to war is full of hardships and not many quiet moments for mothers. So when remembering mothers, we cling to the most unforgettable images. Mother of March in the years of pale poverty, the country is not yet at peace, worries spread in many directions on the eve of harvest.

The weather warms up to ease the cold for Mom, but it is hard to comfort her when her children are still at war. She knows that Mom longs, longs day and night for her children to return. Any day, any season, any month, her children can return to the place they came from. Let Mom cook for you a bowl of rice with the smell of firewood, even if it is the last bowl of old rice left at the bottom of a jar. Mom hopes...

Knowing that, not all children return to their mothers. War, as a writer once wrote, is no joke. It is cruel, more cruel than any other cruel, cruel. Spring brings with it fierce campaigns, countless sacrifices; many, many soldiers carry their mothers' images to another world . My tears once fell on the fireflies, the cotton flowers, the riverbank and my mother's quilted cotton shirt. Oh March!

2. March. The sun is no longer budding. The breasts of March, a young girl, will be ready to step into my new dream. Waking up, I regret the strange emptiness and infatuation. Coming to class, oh, the March dress has built a tower of youth, making me feel elated as if I were standing in front of a fairy tale castle. I love literature class more than math class. Looking at the March at the next desk. Her cheeks seem rosier.

Hair is longer. What is more, March?

Royal Poinciana - Photo: Tuyen Quang Newspaper

There is a March day that often brings back memories. I joined the army before I could give my March flowers to them. After decades of separation, March still seems to be waiting for me with red silk cotton flowers and white silk xoan flowers. Purple and red. Which color is the real March? Why do I want to embrace both? Both flower colors for a March of endless longing.

I brought those two March flowers to the battlefield. As a sacred reminder and also to engrave in myself the most enduring desire for peace . A belief in goodness and love to fight against retreat and collapse. People are easily cut down when they have no hope. Yes, I hoped that the xoan and kapok flowers would bloom peacefully in my country, my homeland one day. Fortunately, that came true even though it cost a lot.

3. Mom and sister. No matter how much I love you, it's still not enough... March!

Nguyen Huu Quy

Source: https://baoquangtri.vn/van-hoa-the-thao/thang-ba-tro-lai/184445.htm