A Burmese tragedy
A tradegy in one billion parts
Burma’s people have spoken, long may it be heard:
“We know, and we’ve chosen by whom we’ll be led!”
The Masters in their military-decorated suits
Stay far from the death-streets, from pavements stained red.
Former jewel of Asia, that image now shot through the head.
People’s champion caged, her electricity cut,
Opposition silenced, the outspoken killed.
Even monks’ blood is spilled.
While the Generals meditate!
What worse could befall us?
Don’t answer. Don’t ask.
Rangoon, we are the New Hell.
Mother Nature punishing the Generals? No, they’ve moved the Capital.
Rangoon awash in bodies.
Monks and the Godless join and march to the beat
Of Revolution! Most have no shoes on their feet.
Repackaged aid: “From the Junta, With Love”
Keep the new rice for themselves; “Eat the old stuff or starve.”
Bodies blocking the drains? Dynamite.
No dignity in death.
No dignity in Burma.
No dignity anywhere.
A referendum now held: Democracy rules!
The 1990 election disallowed. The Lady denied.
By the Government.
By the people.
Of the people.
For the people.
The bodies of the people.
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