Thursday, 9 October 2008

An Arakanese Poem of the 16th century (11)


Peom by:Okker Pyun

To-day was the festival of Tug-of-war:
The cold had gone;through the mild evening air
Holiday crowds entered the capital,
Singing heir old songs to the old-time tunes,
Till the whole city was full of their songs.
Laughting and shouting in lightheartedness,
Groups of them gathered at the tugs-of-war,
Settling their friends and sisters ready in line,
Urging the girls to grip well on the rope
And the boys to give a strong pull together.
So for hours they were happy nad hight spirited,
In bright clothes, very bright in their ornaments,
The beat of the band-music always hight
When a new tug began or the victors danced.
Night advanced; the moon rose overthe city.
The streets were still full of the same mad crowd
That posed and pironetted,shouting jests,
Not one of them with any thought of sleep.
I sat on watching;midnight was long gone;
The morning cocks were crowing ;still I lingered,
More saddened now by reason of their joy.
But suddenly the sun burst out of ground,
ROusing thebirds making them hop and strentch,
Open their wings and wheel above the tops,
And fill the forest motning with their songs.
My eyes went after them.I saw beyond
Flowers everywhere on the tree and every bush
A fire of flowers, the same wild flowers of spring
I'd plucked a year go with such fond prayers,
With such fond hopes had laid before the Exalted-
Fond foolish hopes, for you have not come back.

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