My poems reading in Shambough House, IWP.

Cho Tu Zaw

Editor : Jessie Gaynor

A moment of a river

After grandpa, father persisted
after father, I persisted
and after me, so will my son.
Our blood flows more fiercely than water,
and the most insistent river is history.

20 years, generations before and after
past, present and future may seem
to selves

as eternities
but each self passes so quickly,
and time slips by in flows –
yesterdays, todays and tomorrows
slip by in flows, stones
that grandpa could not push from our way,
father pushed
and I pushed, so
will my son. None

will await their motion. All
will exhaust our might
in past, present, and future lives.
But a son will not see his father felled

by a stone.

So try, my son. Push

the stone from our way, into the abyss
and never block your own way.
As the infinite stars in the sky

as a father beholds his son

you are beheld and beholden.
Past persistence, and we all will smile.

Cho Tu Zaw

Editor : Jessie Gaynor

20 years

Maybe 20 years was just enough time
for the songs we sang
to fade to classics.
Back 20 years, the young guys decided
to change their little town:
more water, more flowers, more beauties.
20 years, with that great decision

an old townie laughed. Boys!

Towns always match stride with their folks.
No nothing from nothing.
No one, no more.
He groaned, laughed,
laughed and cried
and gathered away his tears.
The young guys left with anger

with disappointment. They faded.
Some dead,
some lost,
water and flowers kept for wives,

beauties tossed aside for liquor, drugs.
Their 20 years over,
their songs aged, but the new

old men sing unchanged,
and grow to love their olds.
They can’t keep time with the styles

of the next guys, hip-hop, rap
as the new young ones have tired of the songs

they never knew by heart.
While the old men listen to nostalgia
they rage, yearn, smile
remembering
as those rappers, those next young guys, echo
the refrain. They say their town
has no beauty, they say
they’ll be the change. Old men again

laugh, with tears.

Cho Tu Zaw

Editor : Jessie Gaynor

The river bathers

We took off all our clothes and jumped
into the river, the river of silence.
Although those restless currents
had overcome our banks,
swept away our newborn children
carried off our pregnant mothers.

                                                                                                                                            Cho Tu Zaw
                                                                                                                             Editor : Jessie Gaynor

The Star-lover

There, in the dark sky
behind the black clouds,
the little stars sparkle anyway.
In this time beyond time
the dark occupies the night
the night teases the moon
the dark and the dark
then the dark, only
the dark, all around.
But, at that moment,
the little stars
sparkled for an instant.
a moment, already gone
but surely they shined, the light their own
against the dark.
All stars are suns.
They have made worlds,
built the universe,
built of light
to warm the people.
A star-lover star-gazing,
spinning their stories, sees:
there, in the dark sky,
behind the black clouds
the little stars sparkle anyway.

(dedicated to Min Ko Naing and 88 Generation Students Leaders)
                                                                                                                               Cho Tu Zaw
                                                                                                              Edited by  Jessie Gaynor

Bagan Night

How deep is the dark.

that I couldn't see the reddish dust
over the tops of my shoes.

With a gradual sound of breathing,

black blanket cover, head to toe
the town falling asleep.

In that night,

no moon, no stars

befriend the night

and I depend on only my feet,

walking alone.

In that moment,
a breeze sounds and

the spirits come and float there

murmuring and dancing in the wind

around and around me.

Not the ghosts, these.

They never threaten the people,

the people frighten them.

Over there! among the broken bricks

under the shadow of the dark

their bitter squalling  sounds in there..

Night falls silent, trembling with fear.

Hey! Here, the reddish bricks were broken.

That is, our years were broken.

here. . we pray

here . .we made our shelters

here.. we lived over thousands of years

here . . in these bricks

we ripped our bloodlines over these bricks

we buried our hearts in these bricks

We live here still.

me.. the lonely poet..

out of the fear

and all the pages of poems written

burned to pray

this is my worship for their beauty.

I run to climb a temple,

make a dance and cry out songs with them.