MYANMAR (BURMA)
MILITARY COUP 2021
DEDICATED TO THE PERISHED POETS
How many soldiers of death are there in the heart of injustice?
Soldiers imprinted in the eyelids of reality
shut your lids of words.
The words executed by the look
of reality turned into cobras of soldiers' instant.
The shots became the blade of life,
the shots measure the sighs of death by the uprightness of man.
At the demonstrations of our imprinting into life,
life slipped from the shadow of bloody forgiveness.
Poets plunged in the shadow of words,
hold a bloody poem in their hands.
A BANDIT OF HIS OWN TIME
I am a curve of reality,
I take off on the slogans of freedom,
I give a speech clothed in four sides of the world,
I give a speech clothed in the intimacy of freedom and my blood,
I give a speech in the prison unit of all injustices,
I give a speech dressed in my life,
I give a speech inside my and your freedom,
I give a speech equalled to our lives and
to our existence,
I give a speech which erupted from a volcano
which was created by the sides of the world of courage,
I give a speech which is
created by the blood of our presence.
TRANSLATION SONJA ASANOVIĆ TODOROVIĆ
