Are We?

Ko Hmway

It’s silent…
like an electric chair
in the early twentieth century prison
where there we are
and it’s called Myanmar.

We live there as empty beer cans
there as, again and again recycled
stained and wasted-wrecked-papers
there as chewed straws
and there,
mad cows are still chewing
and chewing
where there we are,
and it’s called Myanmar.

Frighteningly we breathe
with doubts
to doubt our souls…!
we pound ourselves
with eternal interest
we wrap ourselves
with deepest wounds
and we reproach ourselves
with our needle-tip-egos
with our splendid inferiorities
and with our molested souls
where there we are
and it’s called Myanmar.

Ko Hmway