After the War

I want to go back to school,
after this war.

(1)

The monarch of death,
carrying a rifle on his shoulder,
closed the doors of schools.

(2)

Students’ recitation stopped.
A rain of bombs started falling,

Using heavy ammunition
they are trying to occupy the hill of peace.

Tears,
truths on dead bodies
are cared by none,
not even by whores.

Are the numbers of glittering insignia on army uniforms
in direct proportional with
the numbers of children killed in wars?

I am trying to work out the formula of the gods of war.

(3)

At a paddy field where rice are grown,
my father’s body was buried,
casually, hastily.

Like grasses at place where bombs exploded,
family lives are shattered and destroyed.

Above our heads,
flying bullets are whispering a songs of demons.

A land mine
beneath our feet
suddenly exploded, and
took one of my legs way,
and smashed my future a part.

I was just on the way to my home.

With tearful eyes,
I ask if I had been venturing to unfamiliar places.
Now my life is stubbed
like my knee is.

At regions that lack rain of peace,
mothers who lost sons, and
sons who lost mothers
are demoted to sub-human status, and
have being hunted down,
like animals are.

The cries of mothers are flowing along the shore.
The River Irrawaddy is red with blood.

(4)

A war is
an act of nailing love and kindness on a cross,
the crucification, by the state officials, the executioners.

In a war,
no matter who won or who lost,

At the end,
it is only hatred that triumphs, which
then drives all children who just lost their parents out of the land.

Oh, the blood-thirstiest,
Oh, the most cruelest,
We will never sanctify the palace that is built on the massacre hill.
We will never visit it.

(5)

Instead of spending money on bullets, please buy breads for us.

Instead of throwing grenades, please throw Quinines to us.

In a war,
the very first bullet hits the human-heartedness.
The decline of humanity is the start of the fall of a nation.

Let's lower our national flag to half-staff.
There is nothing that is more heartbreaking than singing the national anthem,
while crying.

(6)

Don’t leave the legacy of hatred to the new generation.
May God help us.

Let’s the voice of Peace Sermon be filled the whole sky.
Let’s pray with our hearts that are filled with children’s wishes
Let’s pledge to observe Peace Precepts

After this war,
I will practice writing alphabets,
on a slate my mom bought for me,
to have beautiful handwriting.

I w-a-n-t t-o a-t-t-e-n-d s-c-h-o-o-l.

I w-a-n-t t-o r-e-t-u-r-n to s-c-h-o-o-l.



Min Khite Soesan
(2012)

Note: I just tried to translate a poem of Min Khite Soesan.

I am busy these day with my thesis and preparation for the defence on the 9th or the 10th of December. But when I saw that poem, I stopped revising my thesis and started trying to translate it into English. This is a very rough draft—the very first drat. I don’t have time to read, reread, revise and rewrite it. I will do it later. May all of us have peace, everlasting peace.

Update: I did my defence on last Wednesday, the 9th of December. It went really well. The defence panel wanted me to make a few revisions on my conceptual framework and the data presentations related to my answers to the research questions. My PhD is at hand. Within probably about 7 months from now, I will be officially Dr Myo.