Aung Cheimt Goes to the Cinema

I hear
The ballad
Inside the flower.

Heroes are those who dare cling
To life’s ennui.
I’ve picked up a toy from inside a book.

“Only edible crops should grow
On arable lands
On the earth,” they say.

In the garden
A corpse dissolves,
Still munching
A pack of salted peanuts.

People wear designer shirts timidly.
“SENSE?”
But does he himself have any sense?

A human
On a trishaw.
A human
In a rocket to the moon.
“To paint bovine portraiture
It’s necessary to live an animal life,”
Van Gogh says.

A cup of drinking water
I was privileged with.
How horrifying
“This happened . . .”
“This happened . . .”
5th January, Monday
(Sweet child)
I’ve been through a hundred trials.
Just like that in the life of impermanence
Devils of human existence
Passed by and paused
Glorifying my integrity.

On a rooftop
Under the moon
My soul sits like an aristocrat
While my body rests
In a dimly lit corner.

AUNG CHEIMT GOES TO THE CINEMA