The great emotion that I had when composing the song Mother Gio Linh as well as seeing my colleagues at that time also had the same feelings about her, would later become a shame. When the country was divided, I moved to the South to live and suddenly one day, I received a poem by a poet in the North about the story that Gio Linh’s mother reminded of the old musician. I was still sad when I found myself with no way to answer that mother when I received another poem by a Southern poet criticizing the poem of the Northern poet. This second poem also brings me and Gio Linh’s mother out to act as a springboard. As I am writing these lines, I also intend to take advantage of pen and paper and time to reply to those two poets. But I think that maybe I just need to ask a small question, is it enough: I don’t know in Vietnam today, is there a city with a street named BAU MAO GIO LINH?
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