A Cut-Across Day
The hills from which I've retreated
And the hills which I haven't conquered,
Though closed eyes the desert
Stretches as far as it goes.
The games which I've aborted
And the dreams from which I've woken up
The moon lies above my head
While I run and stop.
I've passed over bridges,
And many lanes.
Sometimes, a stretch of forest
Sags me from afar.
Sometimes, within the reach of sword.
Between ghost jetties
Never touch an anchor line.
Until there is steam pressure,
I've reap a bundle of green waves in my arm.
The Zinc roofs are creaky whenever the wind blows,
The house lizards on ceiling are chirrupping,
The ad model from turned on TV channels speaks endearingly,
"This is the best toothpick in the world".
Throwing two sleeping pills into the mouth
causes to meet Freud on the next day.
My token number is 38,
The waiting 38 year old woman before me
has big butts. So let’s say 38.
It seems I've heard the 38th lover
says in the novel "Missing Till One Dies".
No, it isn't. I don't get along well with
the poet who says he's read Boccaccio tales for 38 times.
I usually sit and sip some beer
with the old rescue worker
who does not retire from work
though he is in 83 years old.
It's sure that his arm muscles
are not flabby hideously.
It's sure that his reluctant walking style
When he dives into waves
from the bank like a lad,
Before considering that,
before the news which says 3 sharks have been found
to aware that the sea has turned into the shark
to remember that hotels are as silent as Meditation Centres
for a long time.
"Mr. Freud, that old rescue worker is a gay in my dream".
About the plan to publish " A Devoted Couple" poetry book
by the poet who read Boccaccio tales,
about the 38 lady who has returned home out of impatience
what do you think of a girl
who is about to be 22 years old.
(Don't mingle it with a girl of 28.)
Well, isn't it novel is dead in Myanmar?
About her craving, sex and schizophrenic manners,
and undesirable scandals,
Still alive, devoid of good reputation.
It seems a bit sympathetic to tilt one's face up a little bit.
Wait! Do you think it's about the lady in the real world?
"Mr. Freud, that girl who is about to be 22 years old is always in my dream."
She's sobbing all the time in my dream.
Yes, she is.
When awoke, eyes are still wet with tears,
Don't tease it a wet dream.
The old rescue worker is standing with a cello
at the edge of the sea.
To a girl to be heard, lyrics of loyalty are composed,
The poems in the " The Devoted Couple" are recited,
Yes, it is. From the beginning
creaky the roofs are
when the wind blows.
A Novel of Nu Nu Yi (Innwa)
(I have a chance to translate these poems to the enjoyment of readers.)