Saigon Poem by Natasa To

Saigon hums beneath the sun,

a restless heart that never sleeps.

Motorbikes weave like rivers run,

through alleys where the lanterns keep.



The air is thick with spice and rain,

with coffee strong, with songs of trade.

Old temples whisper soft refrain,

while towers of glass in dawn are made.



On every street, a thousand lives,

vendors call with gentle pride.

Lotus blooms and hope survives,

though time may shift the city's tide.



Saigon, jewel of the southern land,

you hold the past in your open hand.

A city of memory, dream, and flame,

forever alive, forever the same.
Saigon



Saigon hums beneath the sun,

a restless heart that never sleeps.

Motorbikes weave like rivers run,

through alleys where the lanterns keep.



The air is thick with spice and rain,

with coffee strong, with songs of trade.

Old temples whisper soft refrain,

while towers of glass in dawn are made.



On every street, a thousand lives,

vendors call with gentle pride.

Lotus blooms and hope survives,

though time may shift the city's tide.



Saigon, jewel of the southern land,

you hold the past in your open hand.

A city of memory, dream, and flame,

forever alive, forever the same.