Hledan

Hledan

Hledan
Half it is graveyard; half it is park
A frequented ground for mothers
Searching for their lost sons;
A place where one gets haunted
Like in the wild jungles;
A small forest grove
Thirsting for Paukharavassa* clouds;
Naked footsteps everywhere in sight.
Alongside the tearful fence
Of the city lightly adorned
And on its streets prone to itching sensations
Gandhi, the beggar,
Sang songs that knew no titles
And lost his begging bowl;
Where Dr.Rizal, another beggar,
Lost his begging bowl too.
It’s a neighborhood of prisoners
Where morning is yet to come.
A farming ground
Where the fist blows bubble
Of cultivators who cannot reap their own fruits
A drying ground
Where tender fruits have to fall down.
There lie the arm muscles of our elder sister
That scratched the 40 years-old bed of injustice
At the cost of flesh and blood.
There lies the wailing cry
Of our little sister
That finally turned into simple tears
While asking for the lung of the devils.
There lie the frost-bitten flowers
Which could not bloom on their own branch.
There lie the arm bones of the storms
Spawned with cerebrospinal fluid
Of the patients still bewitched.
There lie the flames
Under Ko Ba Hein’s “beats of the horse-hoof”*
But whose blood has been sucked out.
There lie the sleepless tattered bags
Which neglected their own lives
While searching for the remains of several others.
Yes, there is.
A lone man becomes an easy target
Of the bullets by the hunting dogs.
A piece of flag
Becoming a piece of bandage
That stops the blood.
A piece of scarf
Becoming a piece of flag stained with blood.
It’s a ring of yellow color
Of the vile weather
That drinks the wine
Fermented with rose-chestnuts flowers.
There have the drum beats
On our skins
Also toddling music rhythms
Dancing to the drum beats in delirium
The rhythms and drum beats
Staggering but collapsing
The rhythms and drum beats
And the eerie lights frightened
Once the night starts to howl
Out of the sweat pores of the streets
The dark’s graveyard starts to crawl up
The dark’s graveyard
Crawling up!
Notes
*The legendary rain in Buddha’s time that pours down in times of drought and famine—the rain that did not wet those who did not desire it.
*This refers to Ko Ba Hein, a student activist in British rule of Burma, who once claimed that the British government’s crackdown on protests would “let the fire be ablaze in the entire country by one beat of the horse-hoof.”

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