All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights. They are endowed with reason and conscience and should act towards one another in a spirit of brotherhood.

(Article 1 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights in Burmese)

No one shall be subjected to arbitrary arrest, detention or exile.

Article 9:

Those who have the kindness of benefit for others

For the sake of living beings, do not relax their powers.

Though these holy beings bear a heavy burden,

They never put it down and dwell in discouragement.

*the Great Chariot Sutra*

Burma is known as a golden land made of several ranges (or ‘Yoma’ in Burmese) where thousands of tribal memories, wisdoms, religions, cultures and beauties of plants and animals dwell. The rivers, all of them are indeed important to the people and other existences, snake through these beautiful mountainous regions and flow from the north to the south where Indian Ocean is. The peoples, Burma has 103 ethnics, all of them used to be really generous and all they knew was to give.

Since the modern day’s dictators have systematically destroyed, now the golden land is famous for its narcotic trades, refugees, migrant workers and various atrocities and sufferings.

One day, we’ll be free again and the land will be again famous for its beauty.

her dead sons

what are you losing mother?
your sons are just fed into the rotting war!
mother! don’t you know?
they march straight on death’s eyebrow?
mother! at front line, dusk and morn, padlocked
toward the mouth
of war, fate of hell, inhumane, your sons are vainly proud!
battle-cry, as the devil roars, they shout
‘mother fuckers!’ as they dangle their heads into through,
they exchange fires, solemnly at
made enemies, all your sons, each others, mean indignantly!
yes, mother! your sons are vulgar, so disrespect, depressed
and utterly misled!
mother! do you miss your sons at the moment?
forever dead! they’re not coming back! Mother!
red, their heads turned into flames, their barren hearts changed into ash.
they have to serve!
and they serve!
burnt into uncertain future
fouled into two moulds: rebel and private soldier
placed face to face, just like gladiators
to do one thing!
medalled or just worthless toy soldiers
mother! your sons are just desperate thieves and ragged beggars
honorarium, they earn grievance
they pay for clothe and food with that
mother! you know best
if the war hasn’t claimed them yet,
dyslexia - dark fluke, the starry life to them
floundering in this graceless game
mother! don’t, just don’t remember your sons and cry again!
raiders, rapists and murderers...,
mother! don't try, just don’t try restore these heavily armed villains,
your sons have changed! no longer who you gave birth to!
never reclaim who you raised into!
now they’re
dangerous, they respire command,
scandalous, they delight in fear and sweat,
living as marching bodies thwarting the leisure of death!

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