Thursday, January 24, 2008


သူငယ္ခ်င္းတို႕ေရ ဒီကဗ်ာေလးကိုသူငယ္ခ်င္းတို႕နဲ႕မွ်ေ၀ခံစားခ်င္လို႕ဘေလာခ္မွာ

The Speaking Flower

A flower grew on tropical soil

its petals waxen white,

its centre crimson;

the people knelt

and smelt her

intoxicating fragrance

and then felt

mysteriously – free.

Soon the flower

was transplanted

onto yonder shores,

it blossomed,

sprouted limbs,

swaying in the wind,

it breathed the breeze

of liberty.

One day,

the flower returned;

striking her original soil

her colours ignited;

from her petals

crimson rose enflamed:

‘even the searing heat

can not erase

the blood

on the street.’

White simply said:

‘I am truth;

how long will they use

brute force

to besmirch me?’

The people in

the tropical garden

hailed the

speaking flower,

but the dour vines

choked and encompassed it,

till it was no longer free.

It plucked the flower

and placed it

in a throttled

bottle-neck vase

and here the flower remained,

for eleven years

seven months


twenty-seven days.

It did not wilt,

it did not stint

its words.

Its green stalk spoke:

stem the politics of hate

we will forever commemorate

the martyrs of

eight, eight, eighty eight*.’

No one could silence

the speaking flower!

The vines called her ‘foreign’

certain her luminosity

would irradiate

the soil;

they did everything to foil

her speech.

But to the people

in the tropical garden

by Inya lake,

she was simply,

Aung San Suu Kyi

- the daughter of democracy.

Sagari Chhabra

19th June ‘07

(celebrating Aung San Suu Kyi’s 62nd birthday while still in captivity.)

  • uprising of 8.8.’88 when thousands were gunned down by the military.


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