Bloom
A Buddhist monk in Myanmar wrote the following poem and asked us to share on this platform. He signs it anonymously, “Pyithu Ya Han” (ပြည်သူ့ရဟန်း). This poem was read and appeared on our podcast episode The Third Wave.
Mr. General-in-chief,
I don’t know where or how you are
In these dreadful days of bloodshed
But I hope you can stop for a while
To put down your guard and defences
And listen to a monk’s words of reason.
Mr. General, the power is now in your hands.
You grabbed it as one picks a beautiful flower in bloom.
Our land, in all its grace, has fallen under your grasp
But withers away, perishes in your clenched fist.
You see, in order to stay strong and healthy
This kind of flowers needs to be kept alive and free
From all that’s doing injustice and harm.
This flowers has shown the world again and again
The need for their roots to stay firm in Myanmar’s soil
In order to thrive and grow many
Fulfilling a whole garden of flowers.
Instead, we see soldiers trampling all that’s precious.
No rules, except the rules you’ve made them believe.
It’s wrong Mr. General – have you no eyes to see the damage?
The beautiful garden, in all its charming diversity
Has been sacrificed for power, imprisoned with violence
By a martial dog barking day and night: “Listen to ME!”
The flowers are now closing their petals, slowly adjusting.
The sun is not there anymore, has become hidden
Behind clouds of mistrust and destruction.
You’re trying to convince us that our power
Is your power – to rule, to own and to control.
I’m sorry Mr. General, but we’ve already made our choices
Whom to trust, what future to believe in
And all voices were assured to count.
The next four years we were convinced of the gift
Of less violence, of more justice and freedom.
A new web of power was allowed to assemble
From the people, with the people, for the people
And had become the sprouting roots of our nation.
Now you and your soldiers took that away, denying us the trust
As so many Generals have done before you
Forcing us once again to live with guns in our backs.
The flowers are waiting Mr. General
For you to come to your senses,
Patiently but not all that obediently
For the wind of change to blow fresh once more.
The walls and fences you’ve put around us
Might keep the wind out, but not for long.
Nature always finds us a way to freedom
And will raise us in bloom once again.
And deeply rooted inside our hearts, in fertile fearless soil
New seeds of resistance has already sprouted
A secret garden you will never be able to control.
We ask you, all Generals of old, uncover your minds.
Release your darkness and its heavy shadow.
Step out of the way, and so become part of us, the people.
A people without the violence and the killings.
A people concerned for the happiness and benefit of all.
This would be in accordance with the Dhamma.