Unable to sleep in the depth of the night
I sit on the bed, the sheets tossed and wrinkled,
Agitated, uncontrolled, without refuge.

Outside, a few stars between the leaves.
An old magnolia tree besides the lake,
And pottering among the bushes, the ghost, I.

A shuffle of feet beside the bed,
then footsteps at the door and on the verandah,
Frightened, I look at the ghost’s face
and, how I want to cry, I see me.

I drown in the river and shiver.
I rest on the branch of the rain-tree.
I kneel at the holy shrine.
Weary, an I rises from many I’s,
goes to my lover, who does not hear me,
and cry:
“Get up. Let’s go. Don’t you dream of me.”
The image of the ghost comes as a blur in my mind.

Translated By Win Pe(modern Burmese Poetry)

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