The Hanging Man
By the roots of my hair some god got hold of me.
I sizzled in his blue volts like a desert prophet.
The nights snapped out of sight like a lizard’s eyelid :
A world of bald white days in a shadeless socket.
A vulturous boredom pinned me in this tree.
If he were I, he would do what I did.
(ဆီလ္ဗီယာပလာ့သ္ – ေဇယ်ာလင္း။ စက္တင္ဘာ – ၂၀၀၃)