Peom by: Okker Pyun
Thesign of Tasaungmon is a chilly wind.
Still festivals and fairs are in every village:
Those who would worship the Sutamuni
Set up a bamboo sixty cubits in height
And run a rope of lamps to the top of it,
With music and the rhythm of rural song.
That I could offer up such lamps with you!
Day in, Day out, mu prayers for your return
Have gone to the holy relics of the Buddha.
But no one hears me ,no one sends you back,
Though the north-eastern wind is cold and bites
Me though the blankets.Will you never come!
I hope no longer without hope exist,
A wretched woman, hardly touching food.
Taking no drink,in mind and body ill,
Utterly miserable, like one half dead.