Hein Min Tun’s Two Poems

Hein Min Tun is a promising young poet. The poet defies his youth by the depth of thought he already exhibits in his poems like ‘Nectar’ where he delves deep into the true nature of life and love dwelling beyond the obvious , searching for the beginning of beginings. He looks at nature with a mystic’s eyes and speaks of the universality of love ‘beyond borders and reasons.’  Hein Min paints beautiful and stirring images of nature reflecting the human state in life as in death. There is an underlying spirituality and optimism in most of his poems.

Nectar

Life is not when a flower starts

opening up in silence, saturated

in the soft light;

life birthed the moment entangled irises

exude starflakes and

the coolness of the moon;

the life where love is whispered while the quiet

ensconced on blades of summer grass;

where lovers’ lips can avert

the circumstance of walking along the fringe

of truth;

the heart is chosen above

all other incentives;

true love knows not furlongs, borders

and reasons,

and love waits

and loves the patience of waiting,

for the life that lived off fragrance

lingering on lovers’ lips

and the life that dares kiss death as if a bunch

of tulips,

O for such a life…..

where nectar is full and gratitude

never forgets

(IN MEMORY OF DR USHA SRIDHAR)

The night turns hushed,

pulsating with prayers unheeded.

In the west memories

wake astrewn in soft lanterns,

lulling doused hearts into dazed wisdom.

The sweltering air sits solemn

upon her loose tongue gone still,

leaving the unsaid to be carried on.

Words are thawed and history eternalised

within the frame of unforgettable sorrow.

Past the laboured decades surged,

clad in a divine mission

to be ripped into shreds

as if calendar sheets in matured fruitiness.

But the pastures sown still lush green,

wavering in sheen of grace.

For sure remembrances will be mourned again

in shrunk hearts when vague memories

sweep over as recurrent cool breezes

on brooding dates reminiscent

of the cherished voice stolen,

caressing the cheeks dew thrashed.

Legacies of dreams rising

out of the lustrous flame

settling into ashes on an unwanted pyre,

permeate the shared bloods

that smell those fragrant ashes,

to outlive, evolve and flourish onwards

in nuanced incarnations suffused

with the same connotation.

Just don’t forget, my dear,

this fertile soil of Bharat

and the memories still hovering

over the Ganges as silent stars.

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