In between sobs and heaving breasts,
while the cicadas chirp and the ripe durians fell,
in one moonless night in Baungon:
you told me of a lost dream,
endless tears, clenched fists wanting to destroy time.
Suffering is your lot, the prize you paid for, for your youthful indecision.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem