Thursday, 15 May 2008

Burma's Non-Political Flood

(Pls forward this poem to the world)

Water, water, all around me
But I am… thirsty.
Here, there, human bodies' everywhere
But none alive accompany me and share.
And I look at myself
Broken hopes and empty handed.
And I look further around
Just like a post heavy-battled ground.
Wild cyclone has wiped all things down.

Where are those kids from innocent playground?
Where are students in the green and white uniform?
Where is my town always singing along country rock songs?
Where are my mates who search for freedom and independent?
Where are those local chicks with new-leaf-color lips?
Where are those parents with a too busy habit?

All my questions disappear,
All my answers whisper…and whisper.
Collaborated disaster of the nature and the dictator!

And I constantly hear voices from my empty stomach
Asking me food, forcing me speak out and stand up.
I silently speak with my loudest, to the entire world
Then mankind's sympathies come and knock my door.

Let me now open my door
'Cause those sympathies will help to fix my wounded floor.
Let me invite them with an open heart
'Cause those sympathies will help my life reconstruct.

Hello Mr. Militarists,
Your guns are currently useless,
My demands are urgently needed,
Here, I'm alive, not a corpse yet,
Neither much time left.
Together, let's work out as a nice diplomat!

(Dedicated To My Mother And People Of Burma Who Lost Lives And Who Are Hardly Survived Under Both Natural And Political Weathers!)

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