The 35th Magician

poinson taking its toll bit by bit so not anxious to die yet
morning, the room full, spreading to every corner
not daring to hear, I don’t call
ah, the great hero has fallen down with a thud

unworthy of anything
 a lot of selfishness
a lot of salt
a lot of blunders
a card bought for a whole life then hidden
now wonderfully fanned

I am Phaw Way
I am Dylan Thomas
I am Mayakovsky who has achieved success
I am Eliot whom I don’t know much
the knee trembling like that
a canvas
a city
air coming up from the lungs to block the throat
sucking in with a large boast
looks like the universe of physics

as if one had come to love the world all the better
only now
when it is dripping away-
I don’t want to be deceptive

merely to count the days
just to amass them along the light
one slims down

about to go to bed
before lying down after switching off the light
a big machine begins to stir
as if hunting for bed-bugs
has dug deep to look at the future

the chest
being pierced through with a pin
‘I’ve just had a scratch with a thorn’
that’s unscrupulous speaking.

Aung Cheimt
Translated by Maung Tha Noe
(From 12 POEMS, collection-2)

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