Hero's Poetry

Memories of August 8th 1988.

Eight years have passed
Videoimages stiring up my thoughts
School children screaming and crying
Screaming out of fear
Fear for their lives
Fear of death
The death that was nearing
Older students fighting
Fighting back with curses
As their comrades fell
Against the bullets
The bullets that were flying
Flying into the crowd
The crowd of innocent children
The crowd of unarmed students
The crowd of peaceful monks
On the streets of Rangoon

Oh, you Big Soldiers,
Shooting courageously
Into the moral flesh
Thinking, "How dare you, people demand FREEDOM

Flow of blood
Moments of despair
Sound of machine guns firing
The price for Burmese freedom

  Why do I have to fight???

They killed my father a year ago,
And they burnt my hut after that
I asked the city men "why me?" they ignored
"I don't know, mind your business," the men said.

One day from elementary school I came home,
Saw my sister was lifeless, lying in blood.
I looked around to ask what happened, if somebody'd known,
Found no one but living room as a flood.

Running away by myself on the village road,
Not knowing where to go but heading for my teacher
Realizing she's the only one who could help to clear my throat,
But this time she gave up, telling me strange things in fear.

Why, teacher, why.. why.. why?
I have no dad nor a sister left.
To teach me and to care for me you said, was that a lie?
This time with tearful eyes she, again, said...

"Be a grown one, young man,
Can't you see we all are dying?
And stop this with your might as soon as you can,
For we all are suffering."

A free bird toward to a free Burma

My home...
where I was born and raised
used to be warm and lovely
now filled with darkness and horror.

My family...
whom I had grown with
used to be cheerful and lively
now living with fear and terror.

My friends...
whom I shared my life with
used to be pure and merry
now living with wounded heart.

A free bird...
which is just freed
used to be caged
now flying with an olive branch
for the place it loves.

A free bird toward a Free Burma.

In the quiet land

In the Quiet Land, no one can tell
if there's someone who's listening
for secrets they can sell.
The informers are paid in the blood of the land
and no one dares speak what the tyrants won't stand.

In the quiet land of Burma,
no one laughs and no one thinks out loud.
In the quiet land of Burma,
you can hear it in the silence of the crowd

In the Quiet Land, no one can say
when the soldiers are coming
to carry them away.
The Chinese want a road; the French want the oil;
the Thais take the timber; and SLORC takes the spoils...

In the Quiet Land....

In the Quiet Land, no one can hear
what is silenced by murder
and covered up with fear.
But, dispite what is forced, freedom's a sound
that liars can't fake and no shouting can drown.

In the quiet land of Burma,
no one laughs and no one thinks out loud.
In the quiet land of Burma,
you can hear it in the silence of the crowd...

...in the Quiet Land.