The Broken City Poem by Htetmyet Ne' Ye'

I set afoot the torrid tarmac,
where all the ruckus layeth,
An untamed, barbaric bellow.
But the hassle remains,
Amid the emblazoned ambience,
And I saw a mother cradle,
Her naked child asleep.

A car stopped nigh, elegant,
Whilst the family in rags, watch,
The unindulgent, skeptical fellow,
But whence comest the rain,
Lads turn in merriment,
Imagining a football trial,
Frantically unbothered but upbeat.

The sky now a spectre-grey giant,
The desolate world it lament,
Along with the inhabitants down below,
The city now void in the rain,
Vanquished in the uproaring torrent,
I watched it crumble,
But everyone was by now asleep.

The rain endures, everlasting,
But we find in our torn homes, luxury,
For in this broken city, this is merriment,
For we are all good people,
For we are all good people.

-Htetmyet Ne' Ye'