The job opportunity
in my Myanmar country
is so rare and scanty.
So now I am working in a Thai factory.
The place is dirty.
The air is hot and stuffy.
I send hard-earned money
to my poor family.
Here, migrant workers are so many.
There are also many refugees.
Maybe their background differ and vary.
But they have things in common like poverty,
misery, missing mum and daddy, wanting to go back home-country.
Now there is a flicker of hope from dear Aunty.
She is iconic Daw Aung San Suu Kyi.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem