My little dove

My little dove

©   Ye Yint Thet Zwe

English translation  Zwe Hay Hman

My little dove,

I might have to carry

these to my grave -

Intense missing of you

And forlornness in icy winter

In a complete foreign land.

My little dove,

The dreams, the prospects

And concern and worry

To possess these

All are a good mother to be

And a good wife to be, too.

My dear little dove,

I failed to give you

A luxurious

and comfortable life.

Likewise, my pointing finger,

In fact, carries no real power.

Forgive me my love;

I dumped family’s joy

Over my country’s freedom, and

I sacrificed the joys of my family

Again, to feed my ego.

My dear little dove,

I was dump founded one day

Receiving a lecture from our daughter.

“We sacrificed sometimes for impractical deeds,

So they gave us no fruit

or perceived results,” said she,

but I found no words to requite her at all . . . . .

My dear little dove,

I, lying on my hospital bed

And gazing the white snowflakes

As they flew and landed on

And on the glass window by my bed,

Recounted the last story

That we in scripted on the fallen leaves . . . . .

So densely and so intensely lo!!