Min Swe Nin - Monywa Poetry

Regarding Monywa...

Like a river that never stops flowing

Poems will flow with the times.

Monywa and poetry are inseparable.

The poetic cities of the Dark Ages

They were connected.

Monywa was able to shine with poetry.

Like the inner core of a rainbow through the ages

I'm so excited about the color.

Let's just say it's a passing phase, lest we think it's too grand if we say it's history.

When we talk about modern Burmese poetry one day, where will Monywa poetry be?

It's heartbreaking to ask yourself this question and answer it.

Yangon, Mandalay, Pyinmana, etc.

Amidst the competing thrones, Monywa

A small city-state with its own palace and poetry.

Now with "Monywa Poetry"

Ask for his share.

Monywa poets

3, 4, 2019.

Sampayoga

Vimpa Yoga

An evening spent with loved ones

Like a tree where birds climb to perch.

In the evening, when I spend time with my loved ones,

The football field after the game.

Wow!

Three rubies

Like General Aung San

A country with patriotic martyrs

Brigadier General Kyaw Zaw Lo

A country with a peace officer

Like Koba Hein

A country with a unifying politician

Their patriotism

Their hearts, their skills

Their mood

Head on.

If our countrymen are united,

Burmese

In Asia, in the world

One sun and one moon

It's definitely sunny.

Wow!

March 16, 2018

Poetry Ayeyarwady

(1)

Poetry Irrawaddy

I have crossed the river.

Arrived at Katha, arrived at Bhamo

May, Malik, and

Khakabo Razi is a fraud.

Water dispenser with spout and spout

Back to Bagan

Back to Inwa

The image of the jewel is on my back.

I have come, I have crossed the river.

The Master, the Lord, has given you the gift of wisdom.

I want to reach Neruda too.

I would also like to meet Mayakovsky.

I will greet Shelly with a cup of tea.

I'll show you Robert Frost.

I have arrived.

The water has flown.

(2)

I can't help but laugh.

I wander around my village.

I also heard the sound of the cowherd's flute.

The monk also reveres the sound of the mantra.

Oh, what U Nyo told me when I was young

Even children can hear the old sayings again.

Even the sound of a rooster crowing is heard.

It has arrived.

I have arrived.

The right and left offices are independent.

Moat

It has arrived.

I have crossed the river.

My beloved poem, The Irrawaddy.

Am Maung 18, 7, 2018.

Ghost of survival

Oh.. the degree of longing

It's like a one-act play.

Many wrinkles on the face

The empire has expanded.

In space

Competing with the stars

A star of my own

You should have it.

Without expectation

Long delays

Move like a glutton

I pray with each glass of wine.

The ghost is still haunting.

Sometimes too

The ending scene made me laugh out loud.

Those who cry all the time

I sympathize with your expectations.

"Politics is

"It's heartbreaking."

Words of a woodcutter

I feel so sad.

But

They are surviving.

Even though the plain is wide,

People who can't breathe

The eastern horizon

Those who want to frame (emptily)

This wave of pride

Those who want to block the wall

Is it snowing time?

Is it a snowstorm?

Correctly classify

In politics

If only it couldn't exist.

Monywa Aung Shin

The scent of the times,

May, 2019.

Bagan summer night

The hot night air

Half desert, lush green

Sharp teeth, like cactus thorns

It's so beautiful....

Crowns

Heroes, lurking in the ground

The sky is cloudy, will you fly?

The Dhamma of the mind

Door lock, deceit and theft

Should we hide and evade?

Like a castle,

The architectural form, the golden land of Bagan

From the old pagodas, trickling down

The sound of the bells, the lonely rhythm

With sand particles

The burning song, while singing

Busy with radar

The sound of a bat's wings flapping.

It makes the night scary...

People of Bagan

Strong brick, wonderful palace

Ten-flowered flower garden, creative art

Architectural heritage, a golden age

Marco Polo, the traveler

Did you forget to put up an inscription?

Khoma, Arab, Arabia , Sinai

India, Ceylon, welcome to buy and sell

Multi-ethnic, Poh Merchant Street

The intersection of the city, Bagan market square

From the clothes of the gypsy,

Kalayana Dharma

I want to go and see...

Look at the mountain shadow.

Silent stars, some blurry

Some are falling apart.

Fairy tale

The Irrawaddy, the waves of the river

It was eroded....

The Lord also trembled.

Mountains collapse, oceans erupt

To avoid being ruined

Oh, giant Atlatl!

The globe that carries the power of the rising sun

If you change your shoulder, please warn me...

Monywa Aung Shin