Burma Project -Voices of '88 Catalogue- The Poems

Poems of Angust and Aspiration

Most of these poems were written by students from Rangoon
and Mandalay Universities, and one or two are by established poets.
Some of the authors have been imprisoned, and all names are omitted
to avoid reprisals. The themes range from factual atrocities - rape in jail,
massacre at Sagaing - to appeals to the Army and tributes to the dead.

The Peace That Will Enter History
The bird of peace
Soars up to the sky and
Descends to earth - unafraid.

The bird of peace
Glides earthwards and
Flies up again - unafraid.

The bird of peace
From the heavens
Down to earth
Brings compassion, loving kindness,
Loyalty.

The bird of peace flies on.
The loss of life
Will be recorded in history
8-8-88 is our testimony.

In Memory of the Democracy Struggle Heroes

In the land of Burma
Where justice there is none
Under the one-party system’s
Dark image
We grew up in the knowledge of red blood.
Our mentality is not a loser’s mentality
We do not fear brutality.
Don’t intimidate us with defeatist words.
We don’t nurture fear and because
We have this understanding and courage
We will face anything for freedom.
We will face military dictators and
Spill our blood in this and successive lives.
And then ... And then ...
In the campaign for democracy
We’ll inscribe our parts
That’s what we know in our hearts.

WE CHALLENGE YOU There I am, a virgin, pretty, A student at university Fair and full of youth With nothing artificial on my body, All natural curves. My age, Counted on tender leaves of thabyé At the time of the eighty-eight uprising, A shapely eighteen. Here at our university What is there to fear? I’ll fight, fight And be unafraid, With no thought of surrender. Let’s form a students union! It was in March, 1988. One night in one of our fascist state prisons I was robbed of my virginity, Unable to defend myself I was pinioned, Powerless to move or struggle. I couldn’t, I couldn’t. It was like drowning in shallow water.	"... It is necessary for us always to seek out mistakes and defects in our serving the interests of the State and to carry out tasks in accordance with the wishes of the people" SEIN LWIN
		My lips were kissed by those fascists, My breasts were in their mouths, And inside me ... those fascists ..... I was raped by a fascist ‘security’ force, Possessed alive by some evil nat inside As the guns of the moment with endless lust Tore away my virginity - One, two, three, four and more. I all but died. Nevertheless I did not die. Nor did I cry Though my womb had been defiled. I still love our resistance movement And love democracy. So hey, You fascist government! For gnawing away at my flesh and blood I can never ever forgive you, never. Never till the end of time. And hey! Successors of that government, You lackeys, you security force dogs! Come on, if you’ve got the guts, Come with your guns out down the path of bloodshed. There’s a young woman here who’s working for peace, A Burmese flower that has been ravished. You government lot, I’ll fight to bring you down. We’ll never be brought to our knees. We’ll never surrender.

TO A SOLDIER SON

Listen now, my soldier son,
To everything I have to say.
I need to tell you what was done
On that ninth, infamous day
Of August nineteen eighty-eight.
Students, farmers, artisans
Had gathered on that fateful date
With monks armed only with fans
In peaceful protest through the town,
Unaware of waiting guns.
Those beggar-men and beggars’ sons,
The Police, just mowed them down.
I only wish you’d seen, my son,
The way Sagaing with blood did run.

It was as if the spotless white
Of every zedi now was red.
And then another ghastly sight:
The wounded, dying and the dead
They dragged down to the Irrawaddy -
Those who’d died where they were found,
Others screaming, everybody
Still alive was clubbed or drowned.
As these tears of mine run down
My cheeks, I see them flail and drown.

Then some corpses were found
On display in the police compound.
And the one-party rulers
Made it all too crystal-clear:
The Police had fired in self-defense.
The murderous mob had got too near!
Same old lies, same old story.

This one-party state’s corrupt.
With its own expedient laws
It handles us like water cupped
But draining through its ruthless claws.
In that water we’re drowned still
And then discarded, son, at will.

Their lies are on the radio,
The papers too are lying.
What is it but the so-called ‘law’
That leaves the people dying?

It was, that death-toll in Sagaing,
A record even for Myanmar.
A battle in the fierce front line
Leaves fewer casualties by far.
If our murderous police
Were drafted to our battlefront
They’d make war on us, not peace:
With their rifles they would hunt
For bribes, and without thinking twice
From hungry mouths they’d steal the rice.
They’re like the dog that bites its master,
Except they drink our blood much faster.
Now’s the time, without a doubt,
To cut their bloody innards out.

Remember, son, and never forget,
The ninth of August eighty-eight,
When gentleness was killed by hate,
When shots rang out across the town
Cutting sons and mothers down,
When below pagoda bells
We heard the tinkling cartridge shells,
When the blood of living bodies
Turned the golden Irrawaddy’s
Deepest waters deepest red.
Do not forget. Ask why, instead,
So many innocent lay dead.

"The army’s weapons are not for killing the people"

people’s militia strike slogan

- sept 1988

BURMESE BLOOD

We
The people of this land
With honor and with self-respect
Want the world to understand
That we Burmese
Will make our unfurled banner fly
And stand erect to hold our heads up high.

We
Under our own power
With might and fortitude will show no fear
And never cower;
Downtrodden, we’ll spring up;
if struck, give battle;
Killed, we shall live; despatched,
we’ll still be here,
Unlike cattle.

We
Under their firepower
Are like a lovely flower wrenched from its roots,
Or once-clear water muddied.
Burma crushed under fascist boots
Seethes with loathing of these mindless brutes.

FROM ONE STEP

From one step,
Many steps,
From one drop of blood,
A river of blood.
From one voice,
Many voices.
That is the sound of the call to battle.

The sound of clapping is growing,
National spirit feeds our courage.
Our movement is succeeding.
Our hands are joined forever,
We’re on our way to the victory post.
So understand this!
Students and the people are united,
their hearts leaping
And the battle will never stop.

That they could do this!

I am one of the people.
That makes us two of the same,
For though you are a soldier
You’re still a son of the people.
If there is no difference,
Then why hold us to blame?
It’s rice raised by the people
You’ve stuffed into your frame
Until it’s reached the brim.
For eating someone else’s rice
You ought to feel ashamed.
Your own lieutenant, even him,
He steals what people earn
And gobbles it up himself.
Why does he want us wiped out?

And you too should ask why,
As you’re fingering that gun,
Why kill those who provide?
And those fat wads of money -
Did we pay all that tax just to die?
Are you just gaining strength enough,
by getting so well-fed
On our food, to shoot us all down dead?

Sons are cut off from families
And husbands from their wives.
Even your own little brother
Kneeling in the mire
Lost his short life under machine-gun fire.
Without a sword, or even a stick,
With bare hands
Many have lost their lives.
Your every bullet makes our lifeblood flow.

Here an aunt wails,
There an old mother who,
Crying her eyes out,
Cries her heart out too
And the Irrawaddy’s
Running with streams of tears
Reddened by all the bodies,
And neither for brother nor sister
Is there time for obsequies.

Civilians and armed forces
Are of the selfsame race.
We always treated you with grace.
Why inflict these tortures?

For your country
Your life you offer;
For all the people
Your life you offer; this you have vowed.
Why now, just to please your officer,
Do you want to keep us cowed?

When all of us in Burma
Worked together to win our freedom
And with the sweat of our brows
Did our best without a murmur,
It wasn’t for the likes of you.

You are of the people
And likewise so are we.
And yet with warlike cruelty
You never shoot to miss.
How then do you justify this?

Towards a most beautiful time

There’s a flourish of clapping hands, and the
-flowers are in bloom
All over our triumphant motherland.

Ever since it arrived, this season of heat
Has been vibrant with ripples of applause.
Down the road that Bo-gyok Aung San planned
May wildflowers bloom in their hundreds of
- thousands,
So exhilarating, so beautiful to behold,
So heartwarming.

Could there come storms
To strip them from the stem?
Might a wind
Blow cold?

Tested, the wildflowers’ courage will be known.
From any such oppression we shall spring
Back to create a lovely age, grown
Fresh with countless flowers, but just one
- harmonious song.
Let’s join hands together now and sing.

Who is it you really love?

Soldiers,
Were you born from your mother’s womb
Or from a dictator’s?

Soldiers,
Who really loves you?
Is it your mother?
Or is it a dictator?

Some want beauty.
Some want money.
Some want power.

If you give power entirely
Into the hands of a self-centered individual
Will that be right and proper?

If a dictator orders you to,
Will you speak?
Will you write?
Will you work?
Will you open fire?

Sheep follow the sheep in front
Without knowing where they are going
Will the army follow behind a dictator with
- eye shut?

Or
Will they be rational and find its own path?