‘To his credit, editor Ye Myint Thu, who may have taken “good
poets borrow, great poets steal” to heart, claims responsibility
and stresses that …’
(ko ko thett)
I am who I am. Because
My birthmark knows me well
At least, twenty generations have lived in my body
You’ll see we have nine thousand grandfathers,
Great grandfathers, great great grandfathers and great great great grandfathers
All of us have lost focus on this straight line
Of course we are self-sufficient, we can reference one another
My problem, my politics, trash it where you like, overtake or block my lane
On the quarter of my history page, human life is deemed a merchandise
From the wars we cannot imagine
We are Wounds of Shame, boxed in the Box of Shame
When we bite our lips tough, flowers fall from the flame tree, one by one
I’ve torn all my childhood photos to bits
I’ve rolled myself down to my best
Great eruptions have occurred in me
I’ve tripped off into an inescapable black hole
All on my own, I have to pull out the nail I’ve driven in
Our concrete form, benefits of doubt
We are soldiers who merely wage war against fate
I am a little posy of branches bitten off by a bird
I am a kite flier whose string was cut under duress
Of course, I’ve had to return to the source of my mortification
Who’s peeled off my bulky scab?
You can’t fool me. I grew up under the fool stars
We’ve lost everything in a vanishing trick
I am the night wishing for peace and quiet
I'm not yet drunk, two more shots into my glass, please
If I am resurrected as a cold-blooded creature, orange days will return
I am looking for myself so I could murder him
Are both my cheeks just for slapping and backhand slapping by loka
Let me take off my little skin and put it there for a while
What on earth this robot is, to come and talk to me such things?
Shall we just kick down my current life
May the smells of our burnt flesh keep you amused
I dress myself up in the traditional costume set by the regime
I’m civilised and urbane
In my politics, I am a democrat
In my democracy, I am a dictator
I’ve appeared only in the last line
I'm the dare poet
My apologies, Yamaguchi Khin Swe Yi
As for me, I have declined the payment all my fifty years
My verse will make you a thawtapan in five minutes
The chemistry of my poem makes him squirm
As the weapon of my mind reads a red rune
I’m not sure if our poetry belongs to basic needs of this country.
Translated by Phyu Hnin Phway and ko ko thett