Train a comin': Poems from the Burmese resistance

Lives will surely be lost, es

pecially the valued and valu

able ones' history returns as

his story's hysteria wisteria's

woe-begone wonders of mili

-tary mighteous myths the shit

will go on as the gold of the gul

lible the value of the valueless

the jus-tissed of the injusticed

The I of the many I I I s will not

be vanquished into many me

me me s WE may be killed and

the killing will not stop even if

the killers kiss their killed no

retribution no getting nowhere

to nought in a matrix of murder

ous mushrooming mounts I de

clare I in the form of the many

do die in deathless death as they

live in the death of life to reveal the

future hidden in the futile lives of tr

uth you frame the world as through

a world of righteousness as you live

in the wrold of wright and we go like

a flapped mirror floating on the moors

of might.

(Feb. 3, 2021)

As a citizen and as an individual, being a poet is a matter of national freedom. As blood flows to the heart.

That is why today poets, poets' unions, poetry groups, and lovers of poetry are united in the struggle for democracy, which is the foundation of the nation's independence.

The country’s freedom is the freedom of poetry. Poets will be free if the country is free. Poets will be free only if the poets are free.

That is why poets are now working with the people, and their own conscience, to stop the military dictatorship that is now reigning.

Liberation for Myanmar

Must win, must win
CDM movement [Civil Disobedience Movement]

Must win, must win

Democratic revolution

Must prevail

(Feb. 15, 2021)

We live as easy prey for the empire. Numberless zero (that's us). They tell the generals what to do.

The guy who told the gang to stage a coup was very gong hsi but no fa tsai.

It's the year of the ox. We are boxed oxen billed for the kill.

If the brain you miss, aim at the heart.

The bullet blows your life off.

The bastard son rises also.

I'd rather the world not issue statements; Let us be killed in peace.

Die in front of your life.

A stepfather who points at the gun at least once every whim is a good stepfather.

The landscape is bloody-fucked.

The train sinks you in the drain.

Slippages in the slaughter.

Folks marching along vast stretches of emptiness, heading towards martyrdom.

Don't forget what your body looks like when you are nowhere around your body.

Cots in the nursery caged up like coots, gunned up and gunned down where the generation would normally be.

Even the flags flying at the UN make Myanmar a fucking farce.

If it's time to die we get bullets. They taste sweet to us. They Taste Sweet to us.

The guns are glowing. They point at us.

Pick up your body.

'Hey guess what?' 'What?' 'I've learned how to be shot and killed.' 'Damn! Why do some have all the luck? '

The person whose head exploded laughed at the bullet.

As the country fell, what could the world do? Scavenge for loot?

Slipped dreams.

The sniper looks great in uniform. And the flag looks fucked too.

Nobody enjoyed their own deaths.

Time to rise up.

But better get used to mayhem too.

Zeyar Lynn

20 Feb. Coup '21

 

"Every car has its own engine,"

Min Ko Naing said.

We hear the train a comin'.

 

 

MR is Myanmar's people.

Bullets rain at midnight

But they won't make our trains kneel.

Hear the trains roar!

 

Without moving, they move.

Without starting the motor,

revolution's train is starting up,

roaring.

 

We won't return to the old station,

we'll march to a new future,

with new tickets in our hands.

Then the train will roar.

 

Do you hear,

can you hear

the roaring train?

Endless cars are linked.

Here comes our train!

Hear the trains. They are our trains.

 

Pandora

February 19, 2021

Translated by Ke' Su Thar & Ch. B.

 

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See links below for more about Burmese poetry