Phan Thanh gian - My dearest son, when you grow up...

My dearest son,
I bid you farewell!
When you grow up,
Please take care of your mother.
In my absence,
Learn to be strong and wise.
I am in the thick of the battle,
And in my foreboding heart I fear
That this may be my last letter.
But please don't grieve and cry
Do not be sad, nor pitiful
Of my premature end.
Don't strain your tearful eyes
Searching for your father's sight
No more cusping your ears
For the sound of my footsteps.
It's not only natural
But also a great valour
For a man to die on the battlefield.
From you, however, I would ask
Nothing but one last favor:
To avenge my death.
In the name of filial piety,
To protect the Altar of the State,
Your family, your homestead
Founded by our forefathers.
I remember not too long ago,
My own father has written
The very same words to me
When I was about your age.
Just as my father's father
Has done so as well.
And I expect you to ask nothing less
Of your own future children.
And if this accursed war shall drag on
For centuries to come,
Tell your children
To ask for the exact request
To their children and so forth...
Because our ennemies are tenacious
I fear they may outlast us!
So may God protect us,
Our will and power shall prevail
For another two more thousand years!

Phan Thanh gian

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