Thursday, 29 November 2007

Junta's Thugs

Gliding slowly high in the sky,
Only fed when someone dies,
They must be praying just like vultures,
There should be battle field grounds,
All over.

Feelingless assassins,
Only get paid when someone's life is in ruin,
Washing feet with other's blood,
That's the only way,
To fill their guts.

Ignorant of Buddha's teaching,
Haven't got a clue even written as big as mountains
Cannibals with the arrogance,
Lowest of the low,
SPDC's servants.

Calling themselves power rangers,
But when it comes to others' development, they are strangers,
Their only knowledge is egoism,
Their heads full of excretion.

Being dead morally,
Their rotten names already smelly,
Having equipped with guns and knives,
Beating everything, that seems alive.

Be it a monk, be it a child,
Be it a pregnant woman, OR
Be it a foreigner who comes from miles,
Blood thirsty servants of evil,
All they want is a big smile from the devil.

Idle, lazy and indolent,
Their ambition is still to be influent,
After faliure in every honest and hardworking career,
The quick solution was to join the junta.

Easy life, easy killing,
Just for two dollars, will do anything,
Informing, signalling or grabbing a civilian by all four
Nevermind the Human Rights Laws,
Never even heard of human dignity or respect,
And never have wanted to know.

The shame of the nation, the dishonour of the race,
Carried out infront of the cameras, on the global stage,
This is Burma, where it's formerly known,
As the land of pagodas and the land of grace,
Where the Buddhism shone.

Obnoxious hyenas guarding the monastery,
Fending off everyone who seeks eternity,
This is now the porn movies area,
Where junta thugs smoke, play cards and down beer.

Infectious, contagious and deadly,
If this epidemic disease is not cured immediately,
The chronically troubled nation, already unable to stand,
Will soon become a deserted,
Barren land.

We must rebuild this shattered monument of moral righteousness,
By revolution, solidarity, determination and contumaciousness,
The junta is bagatelle, puny, boneless and impotent,
Without their hired repungent ruffian servants,
So let us hunt down those thugs until they disappear,
To break the backbones of
Junta's infrastructure.

My gratitude and respect to Ma Thadar who kindly allowed me to translate/interpret her original poem 'Go To Hell ...You Junta's Thugs' . Nay Chi U

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