Lyric without I

The above-mentioned title has no “I” in it.

What I am going to write about I-less things has no “I” in it.

The steam engine driven by crowd has no “I” in it.

The picnic of park which is going to bloom has no “I” in it.

The value of zeros standing in line to open bank account is void of “I”.

The unconscious mind listening the song of hope

which lottery-ticket seller switches on at the end of the month

is void of “I”.

The cup of tea I drank has no “I” in it.

The taxi I hired drives without “I”.

The blank I left behind is with the blank without “I”.

The nomad meaning spreading out

in all directions of a word’s rhizome has no “I” in it.

Tossing the cane-ball of the poems Time to Draw Water is devoid of “I”.

The nightmare of a dump dog

beating the bush so that the rabbit will come out is devoid of “I”.

The baggy package of metamorphosis snacks of which dept is not as deep

as the lid of aluminum pot inside the goods for sale

of the nations of the world’s corporate is devoid of “I.

The prop of the arms dealer’s peace conference does not have “I” in it.

The badge of tree-cutting Project for Asia’s Green does not have “I” in it.

The plantation on the alluvial soil

of the map-trainings which guide one to South island for going North island

is void of harrowing of mine.

Like the parliament member’s mirage-like word,

saying much, but meaning nothing.

The passersby who will look around

the illusionary deception in joining and setting of sentences of fire-works the act of making a trap-bridge by the translator who is disloyal,

the passersby who will spend time by looking at spiritualists’ dance

and feel tired “I” does not belong to.

The music note which sways as driven by wind, hanging bell onto the corpses

is without “I”.

With the LIKE-waiting status making great age stuck between teeth,

while eating chocolate, “I” am concerned not.

The festival calling the ghost of the midnight’s broken huge jaw bone

of the sound of typing keyboard, like snow, like dried leaf,

does not include “I”.

In the idea to make

unexpectedly-remembered childhood friend Khaka Bahadur’s name imagery

“I” is involved not.

Every lyric you’ve already read up to now has no “I” in it.

Santa Claus’s backpack has no “I” in it.

Lonely is “I”, alone.

To all human-beings in the refugee camps

who start with birth and end with death,

please bring food and bed for today, O, Lord.

The following ending does not have “I” in it.


Way Khaun
25. Dec. 2013
Translated from the Burmese by Ke` Su Thar