Poems
HmongMy name means "free";
My name means "free";
A Poem by Shanyia Vang |
We Are HmongOur roots lie deep in the rich fertile soil of the Loatian hills Where our soul was one with the spirits of the earth. Gently, over the years, verdant growth took place As we created quiet villages Among whispering brooks And our self-sufficiency made us strong. The stalk of our growth was hearty, Well planted and tended with care. We were a quiet, peaceful nation... A nation unto ourselves. Then came the distant thunder of war. We awoke to the sounds of crying... Our babies, Our wives Ourselves. A furious band of angry men Torn down our villages Raped our women And killed our children. We desperately departed our loving roots Escaping into the night... Jungles and heat starvation and brutality. The Mekong River swallowed our loved ones, Babies could not cry or they would die, As we lie hidden in a tangled jungle hideaway, Our roots dangling weakly behind us. We stumbled and fell and fought Our way out. Only to be hoarded into refugee camps, Half dead, families torn to shreds... We waited and waited For our destiny. One day, big silver planes Came gliding into our lifes As we shipped plane load after Plane load of our people Into the beckoning skies, Our roots still wrapped around our feet. Weary and weeping we climbed out of Our World into Your World. Great stretches of cement Replaced our verdant fields; Our quiet hamlets supplanted by bustling cities. Noise assaulted our senses... Now, our children leave us each day To enter a different world. Tov move further away from our culture... Our roots. And as our country was taken away, We felt more pain than ever. Our culture Our life Our homes, All destroyed. We hesitate to speak We try to relate, but... Our children now grow their roots in foreign soil. Yet we cannot shake the Laotian soil from our feet. We want to go home We want to be left alone. WE ARE HMONG Innocent victims of a cruel war Our roots do not grow well here But we must fertilize it With new ways New customs New traditions... Yet our souls still return To the Laos of our birth. WE ARE HMONG A Poem By Suzanne Strauss |
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