Two Poems

Min Kyaw
 

Seasonal


A river flowing strongly
The wind has been blowing across
Daily birds flying above with the wind
Some girls and boys on this bank talking how they envy these flights
It is the season, raining just right
Sensuality from the sky
There are bird shooters hiding on the other bank
There are also some snipers and some with shotguns
The birds are flying to land into the bushes
Hearing some of the violent noises
This is usual excitement for centuries
Some are conservative among modernist
But all only polish the guns
They see it just as fun a season must provide
The painters painting persuasively
In the heads never in the hearts
Naked birds, their feathers are on the huntersí hats
They drink the river, soon summer will come
And they will drink more than ever in the heat
Different birds ever arriving in with and going out without feathers
Until this season end but many wonít be leaving
A poet who sees inside humanity inspiring
How stirring the earth and the world of human beings

 

Two Rooms
Hunger is a problem, toilet is another
Surrounded by sufferings
Here we are in the blue area
There is another, a green area
Here in the blue exists all suffering
There in the green exists just nothing
The blue all rules for pains and tears
The green no rules, not even self aní fear
Two rooms, a common door open to each other
In the blue, Here we are in the blue
Into the green, some are going into the green and disappear
Suffering with everything yet here be with nothing
Suffering with everything here or better be nothing?
Suffering canít get disappear
Suffering or get disappear?
What not in the green
In the blue, big and little holes for us, in the dark
One foul step is to down abyss! And just
Bad as the roomsí door invisible
Lucky ladders on the wall of void
Wisely climb for yourself high