University of Phonaing - The wind is blowing

(1)

It's different when you're a kid.

"One month in a year,

One day a month

"During difficult days, Buddha blossoms in the depths of the forest."

U Kyaw

(2)

I wonder if I cherished the freshness of the seasonal flowers and left them with a priceless memory.

It may be true that the emotions that artists often attribute to the heart, such as love, hate, liking, and disliking, arise from personal experience rather than from causal reasoning.

I don't want to find a reason to love Pi Tauk. I don't want to blame myself for not hating or forgetting a beloved sword that I met in the shade of Pi Tauk, who is just a "commoner" in my country of ideas, but I don't want to find evidence to hate it, a reason to forget it...

Every time I see a beautiful lotus, I imagine someone I don't like, and although my aching heart is not relieved, I think I'm the only one who is surprised that I repeat the cycle of pain once a year.

When the lotus blossoms, I always look up to the sky, breathing in the fresh air.

When I see it, it doesn't move, but somewhere deep in my heart, it still stirs up the lingering pain, and I don't understand myself, "The flower is the best flower."

I don't know if I cherished the freshness of the seasonal flowers and valued them.

(3)

It was the Thingyan period, when the moon was full of clouds and the clouds were thick and cloudy. “The smell of rain, oil, and pine trees mixed with the smell of the earth and drifted around.

I was sitting alone and calmly under a sycamore tree by the still-flooded stream of Nyaung Waing village.

A little further away, in the courtyard of the house of the chairman of the Asian Youth, Ko Thein Maung, I could not see the floating rice field because the surrounding trees were protecting me, but I could hear the sounds clearly. “Uk ka la pa... hum ma so ka…”

The sound of Daw Pu, the strong woman of Nyaung Waing village, singing the monkey song and the sound of her cane hitting the ground came out. The sound of the bamboo flutes played by adults, youth, women, and men also came out.

Captain. . Please help me here, the real man has grown a tail and is now a monkey, ahh.”

The loud, playful cry, which was made to sound like that of my disciple, Comrade Than Htut, continued to emerge.

"Wow.. I'm relying on your captains, now... if you don't dance, will you have to pull out the tail in front of you..."

"Oh my.

Than Htut Gyi also said, "Don't be shy, Prince, hey, hey, Daw Pu." The audience was shocked again.

"Oh my, what did Thano do to me? Heal him, now now..."

A sound of a thumping sound echoed in the background. The two of us, Kyaw Than Htut Gyi, the most cheerful and last-looking soldier of the Burmese Army revolutionary battalion that had temporarily camped in Nyaung Waing village, and Daw Pu Gyi, the “young lady” of Nyaung Waing village, were going to compete with each other in this way.

Thingyan is a truly joyful Myanmar festival for those who enjoy it. I, who prefer to be alone and enjoy my own thoughts rather than having fun with friends, sat quietly by the stream.

The shadows of the drooping reed trees swayed peacefully as the water of the falling stream rose. Along with the ripples that swirled in the muddy stream, the betel and mangrove trees also swayed.

The petals of the lotus flower are falling towards the ground. The golden yellow petals are scattered around the water that surrounds the ground.

This Thingyan, which is reminiscent of the revolutionary era, is when two different types of paddy fields bloom at the same time. Lost in thought, my mind drifted along with the water of the stream, I don't know how far. With the sound of the water pouring down, my whole body became wet, and then I turned around in surprise. At the same time, I heard a pleasant, hearty laugh.

Leave...

I was laughing heartily as if I was enjoying myself, as if I was enjoying the water of a hidden person who had been practicing alone during the Thingyan festival. My two pairs of blue eyes, surrounded by long, flowing, bumblebee-colored eyelashes, were filled with tears of joy.

Suddenly, he stopped speaking, only staring at the bright white teeth that flashed as he laughed, his fair skin and blue eyes. "What's wrong, Ko Myint Khaing, are you surprised that someone is hiding under the palm tree, quietly chatting?"

Although the whole village respectfully calls me a three-star lieutenant colonel, I am affectionately called by my first name. There is a reason why I deserve to be called that.

Before the war, Da and I studied together at the university. At that time, I didn't know Da, who was a girl studying zoology, which was popular among the Kala and Kabyas, and Da didn't know me, who spent his time in the philosophy department and the books on theology. During the war, while serving in the Tatmadaw, I often visited the Asian Youth Headquarters, and I became friends with Da, who I met forever in the Women's Department. When we met, Da's family fled to Nyaung Waing village, and I was on duty, so we got to know each other better.

It was also not unusual for the two of us, who had been away from the university, and who were unfamiliar with the university “lingo” and the language that was so foreign to outsiders, to be able to talk endlessly in every spare moment.

"It's true that I was surprised, but the sad thing is that I still don't have a master to miss...

"Is that what you said..."

The dog happily followed and sat down next to me, his paws splayed.

"I don't know. Are you talking about the song "Hlaaraa" that your soldiers used to sing... "I don't want to give you a choice, I want to give you a beautiful flower..."?"

He was playing quietly, picking up the little pistils under the bowl that was placed upside down on his lap.

I smiled and gazed up at the golden lotus flower that bloomed above the tree.

“I love the lotus flower so much, and sometimes I'm afraid that I might accidentally connect with the lotus flower and the nostalgic stories it tells.”

"Hey... you're imagining it again..."

I don't know where my words were funny, I'm laughing out loud. Even after I stop laughing, I keep criticizing.

"You dreamers, writers, and poets, it's quite funny. You want to make nature bloom, but the blooming lotus won't let go, the jasmine won't let go, the sedge won't give you peace, and there's no rose left. You want to make excuses and smear it with tears."

“This is how it is. The poet’s job is to create a general concept of a subject that is committed to the work of the poet. For example, it may seem like they are creating a specific topic such as the blooming and falling of a flower, but poets create a general concept of the existence, destruction, and impermanence of a certain worldly nature in order to make it seem to the reader’s mind. I think I once explained this concept in the poems of Saya Zaw Gyi and Saya Mya Ke Tu, who delicately presented human pain and goodwill in the description of the flower…”

"While you were talking, I seemed to understand. Then, there was nothing wrong with you. You think art is just like that. Wait a minute, you're not a poet, but how do you see the lotus flower..."

I smiled, knowing what kind of criticism Da would get if I answered.

"I see it as a romantic fantasy love..."

He turned to me with wide eyes.

"Is it funny for a sword..."

"Here, my view and yours are so similar that I'm surprised..."

I was surprised too.