The Factory

In today’s world where people struggle without sweating, words are the origins of weapons.

In the high-tech Silicon Valley, you have to be so shiny that you really deserve to be picked up and eaten well. Like the salesgirls right across the cosmetics aisles or like a bottle of milk, full of pure, fresh and nutritious contents, just imported from a big green city, you have to be strong and shiny. That’s it, boy. Now go. Just go as far away from me as you can from now on.

The banging and hammering have sounded again. The factory, picking up speed, left the place like a train. May it calmly pass through the way filled with licences spread all over. The ancient Egyptians might have spelt the names of devil-may-care species like me in hieroglyphs.

When turning myself to the opposite side of the factory which had just set off steadily, I saw the pale red grasslands wide open out on the horizon. The bloods of those who went ahead have grown again as grasses. Artifices get revived in my veins.

What was my heart pounding for? In fact, the factory was closed that day due to power cut.

Sein Khat Soe
Translated from the Burmese by Khun Cho