[Dedicated to Aung San Suu Kyi, the cool headed killer of the Rohingya people in Arakan]
I cultivated roses in my garden;
I thought I would offer you a garland.
But when the flowers heard your name,
They all fell off in shame like dead leaves.
Now there are only thorns for you.
I cultivated birds in my forest;
I thought I would make you hear their songs.
But when they heard your name,
They all fell down dead in sorrow.
Now there is only hatred for you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
O, it's great allegorical and ironical on the name of dedication there the flowers won't spread the fragrance but offer the thorns there the birds won't chirp melodiously but offer the scratching of claws..........