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under this sha-manic sky
with its favourable spirits and forks of lightning
why do unknown numbers
dance into obscurity?
Armstrong! oh Armstrong!
are there multi-coloured cauldrons
in the centre of your iris?
how sublime your iris!
truly
in this most totemic of pressure-cookers
there is:
no Thomas Edison
no Kanaung prince
no Thein Pe Myint
no Jack London
no Vincent Van Gogh
no Paw Oo Thet
no Saya Zawgyi
no Rabindranath Tagore
no John Lennon
no Myoma Nyein
no collegian Ne Win
no Robert Redford
no Harold Robbins
no Ahtoutthaw Hla Aung
no Thakhin Aung San
no nothing is there
no nothing
no
everything
look!
(in the cauldron of dreamtime)
how these bubbling mists
of a jungle imagination
are demented and embellished
by the red of
first light
From The Wolf No 17 (Spring 2008). Translated from the Burmese by Niall McDevitt.
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