On May 10, 1968 (the 14th day of the 4th lunar month), my mother was brutally persecuted by guerrilla forces and passed away suddenly. I was seventeen years old at the time.
Every year when night comes back around
The full moon shines like it knows my name
On the tenth the night my heart broke down
My mother left this world that year
No matter how we cry to heaven
No matter how we curse the pain
A life can turn so unforgiven
And sorrow still remains
My mother taught us right from wrong
She spoke with love, she stood so strong
Who could have thought the cruelest hand?
Would take her from our trembling lives
She was not old, she had more years
More songs to sing, more dreams to hold
She left us here with grief and tears
With half-finished prayers and stories untold
Phat Tran-Lam