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The Poetry that I never created,
But the seconds of my day
That I adored so much.
Couldn’t grip the moments
Of my day in my fists
As the iceberg of the day
Set into water and spilled over
From the seams of my fists.
After my morning routine,
I’d befall at
The dining table of my kitchen
For my everyday breakfast
With a Mug of Coffee
Or a Cup of Tea
Arising the whole fullness in
The emptiness within me.
The morn spun another page
Of my erstwhile diary
With the deeds of that very day,
Too much absorbed I’d be in
Savoring the flavor in me
(...)
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Soi Pyei Thasin, the well-known Burmese
Cine artist, Singer and Model
after having ordained as the Buddhist monk.
Sowing my own beauty
Thriving the fruits of wealth
Out of my acting, singing,
dancing and modeling
As my keen performance
Consented the limitless joy
She attained herself accomplished
And blossomed altogether
On edge of the eyes of all her enthusiast.
When my cakkhu-vinnana
Suffer itself the amorous living as it’s -
The wrinkled complexion
Of my immeasurable beauty
The perishable nature
Of my earnest wealth
My pondering muses,
My hoping dances,
(...)
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Landslide came into my life without notice,
I myself am lost, not in moor,
not in cloudland, not in fog, not in haze,
not in markets, but within my
own polluted sketches.
- Excerpts from my poet friend, Nabin Chitrakar’s poetry “Formless Canvas”
In the circle of time
changing continuously in every seconds
is the poetry –
The poet’s no conscious of
When? How? Where?
crop up as if shaken
all at once by the earthquake
the mind stroke to his poetry in a second.
The spirit of the poetry encountered
the blood corpuscle of half of his body
ceased to streaming, bending into fragility.
The remaining other half
gushed in its veins naturally.
(...)
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The melodic whispers
of the chilly breeze
rupture the seed soiled
to sprout to bloom
totally and clearly.
Squeezing the morning
drip the natural dewdrops
from the roof of my home
rinse your supple body
cleansing all the dirt and filth
blushed steadily
as the gold glittered.
Just linger for a moment
near the meadow of my mind
the frosty and icy sweats
distilled through my arduous fervor
let you feel this much serene
that craft a poetry of its nature
in my mindful mind.
Burning lava erupted
(...)
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Can the emptiness
eavesdrops to its own words
by its ears lucidly –
in the darkness wrapping its room,
in the sound of beating its ear,
in the breathing in and out,
in the sight shimmering its eye,
in the taste arousing its tongue,
in the wrinkling its body by the winds ,
in the kissing bloom by the breeze and
in the leaf falling out of the tree?
Rhyming a moment the song of the morn
set just the morning sluggishly
in the greenery of the clear and clean forests
revealed the soaring pitch concealed in it.
May divulged it either
in the heat of thundering clouds or
in the frost of the freezing storms?
In the disease of alarming itself
by the severe wounds
bemused account at the spot
(...)
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