Poem

Tin Moe

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WHEN BLOOD BOILS

When blood boils, it explodes.
When blood freezes, it ices over.
Hushed and anchored
without deliberation.
Our Burmese derive from Shakya
insulated.
The sight of blood agitates,
cools to extreme fear.
Be brave and be afraid.

Young heart
a moment brave
close to a hay fire
opportunistically following grandfather.
The chase is constant
perhaps like paradise or a wish
perhaps without knowing
on a trip without a path.
The cow eats plums
obscured.
This is our Burmese people.

© Translation: 2013, Tin Moe

Shakya was a dynasty in ancient India.

WHEN BLOOD BOILS

© 2005, Tin Moe
From: Anya lann ka tamah dann (Rows of Tamah Trees in Upper Burma)
Publisher: Shwe Thingaha Myanmar Association Library, Korea, Bucheon City

Tin Moe

Tin Moe

(Burma, 1933 - 2007)

“Poetry is my breath; poems are my bread,” Tin Moe once declared. He dedicated his life to poetry and the search for truth. Born in 1933 in a town in central Burma, Tin Moe began writing poetry for local magazines when he was 17. He went on to write poems regularly for local literary publications as a novice. Tin Moe’s early poems were influenced by leading Burmese writers of his day, who broke...

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WHEN BLOOD BOILS

When blood boils, it explodes.
When blood freezes, it ices over.
Hushed and anchored
without deliberation.
Our Burmese derive from Shakya
insulated.
The sight of blood agitates,
cools to extreme fear.
Be brave and be afraid.

Young heart
a moment brave
close to a hay fire
opportunistically following grandfather.
The chase is constant
perhaps like paradise or a wish
perhaps without knowing
on a trip without a path.
The cow eats plums
obscured.
This is our Burmese people.

© 2013, Tin Moe
From: Anya lann ka tamah dann (Rows of Tamah Trees in Upper Burma)

WHEN BLOOD BOILS

When blood boils, it explodes.
When blood freezes, it ices over.
Hushed and anchored
without deliberation.
Our Burmese derive from Shakya
insulated.
The sight of blood agitates,
cools to extreme fear.
Be brave and be afraid.

Young heart
a moment brave
close to a hay fire
opportunistically following grandfather.
The chase is constant
perhaps like paradise or a wish
perhaps without knowing
on a trip without a path.
The cow eats plums
obscured.
This is our Burmese people.

© 2013, Tin Moe

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