The Earth and the Farmers

The Earth still goes on bearing
her task as happily as can be.
While farmers, almost drowned
in their own sweat, plough along.
When the fields become golden
with abundance of rice and grains
That send out mellow fragrance
to blend with sweetness of ripe fruits
In the wind that blows across the
sunbasked fields
Both the Earth and the farmers
can be proud of their accomplishment.

Baby, I'm yours By Arctic Monkeys

Baby, I'm yours
And I'll be yours until the stars fall from the sky,
Yours until the rivers all run dry
In other words, until I die

Baby, I'm yours (baby, I'm yours)
And I'll be yours (yours) until the sun no longer shines,
Yours (yours) until the poets run out of rhyme
In other words, until the end of time

I'm gonna stay right here by your side,
Do my best to keep you satisfied
Nothin' in the world can drive me away
'Cause every day, you'll hear me say

Baby, I'm yours (baby, I'm yours)
And I'll be yours (yours) until two and two is three,
Yours (yours) until the mountain crumbles to the sea
In other words, until eternity

Baby, I'm yours (baby, I'm yours)
'Til the stars fall from the sky
Baby, I'm yours (baby, I'm yours)
'Til the rivers all run dry
Baby, I'm yours

Baby, I'm yours
Baby, I'm yours

A TAMARIND TREE AT SANAM LUANG

May 17, 1992. Thousands of people convened here,
Mutually demanding for Democracy.
I can't help feeling both joy and awe,
Perceiving the power of their unselfish desire.
Then I startled at the gun's sounding from the
Ratchadamnern Avenue.
I saw those people flee, running for shelter but found not.
Boys and girls fell, shocked, wounded, and killed.
Some bullets even entered into my trunk, severed my branches,
Shook down my leaves that fell to rest in pools of blood.
Pure blood of these fallen seeped down through parched soil.
Enlivening my root and rootlets.
Surely with nourishment from their devoted blood,
I shall become stronger and branch out again.
To stand firmly with those people and shelter them in the next fight.

From "Lyric of Art" By Pratuang Emjaroen 1992

The Invisible Wind, Touchable Cold

The wind is shilly-shallying, blowing unwaveringly all day all night. My body is shivering and shuddering. I consider winter as a sluggish season as it makes people don't want to get up from their cozy bed. Once you get in your nice warm bed with your teddy, you'll be as snug as a bug in a rug! Imagine if you dwell in a place surrounded with mountains, how cold it will be. Winter galvanizes people to be more active not passive. Some people may like winter but for me it is my arch-enemy, however, it also brings something good back to me. I have my do-it-myself grilled streamed sticky rice saturated with seasoned egg. I have such a compelling time and my mouth-watering khaojii sharing it with my family members. yummy!!!

EMBROIDERIES

By Marjane Satrapi

A tantalizing graphic book concerning to a gaggle of Iranian women for an afternoon of tea drinking and talking subjects to love, sex and the vagaries of men. These vibrant women share their secrets, their regrets and their often outrageous stories about, among other things, how to fake one's virginity, how to escape an arranged marriage, how to enjoy the miracles of plastic surgery and how to delight in being a mistress. By turns revealing and hilarious, these are stories about the lengths to which some women will go to find a man, keep a man or, most important, keep up appearances. The book is available at Kinokuniya, 342 baht also Thai version (เย็บถากปากร้าย, สำนักพิมพ์กำมะหยี่, ราคา 155 บาท). A must read !!!

Desert Years

By Tin Moe

Tears
a strand of grey hair
a decade gone

In those years
the honey wasn't sweet
mushrooms wouldn't sprout
farmlands were parched

The mist hung low
the skies were gloomy
Clouds of dust
on the cart tracks
Acacia and creepers
and thorn-spiral blossoms
But it never rained
and when it did rain,
it never poured

At the village front monastery
no bells rang
no music for the ear
no novice monks
no voices reading aloud
Only the old servant with a
shaved head
sprawled among the posts

And the earth
like fruit too shy to emerge
without fruit
in shame and sorrow
glances at me
When will the tears change and
the bells ring sweet?

Translated by Anna J Allot
From The Irrawaddy Magazine, April 2007, Vol. 15 No. 4

Grassroots Democracy and Local Corruption

The vicious of corruption is not just the classic conundrum of Thailand's main political arena. The pandemic corruption unfailingly spreads throughout my motherland. I see no destination, even light at the end of the tunnel, for Thai's political salvation. The austere disease of graft grows fruitfully on Thai soil. When the election is coming, the village turns to the convivial festival. Money is being thrown to every house for the pungent competition. People who enter to the political arena are fighting for the position with an iron fist. Some people even sell their land to garner as much money as they can for canvassing and buying vote. The overwhelming age-old problem of the Thai political vicious will not be easily wiped out. People always have a pessimistic "mindset" of politics as a dirty game, whoever comes to the power is totally corrupt so why don't receive money from them since it is a win-win game for both the (some) people and the politicians.

Desirelessness

“He is a devotee who is jealous of none, who is a fount of mercy, who is without egotism, who is selfless, who treats alike cold and heat, happiness and misery, who is ever forgiving, who is always contented, whose resolutions are firm, who has dedicated mind and soul to God, who causes no dread, who is not afraid of others, who renounces all fruit, good or bad, who treats friend and foe alike, who is untouched by respect or disrespect, who is not puffed up by praise, who does not go under when people speak ill of him, who loves silence and solitude, who has a disciplined reason. Such devotion is inconsistent with the existence at the same time of strong attachment.” Gandhi summarized it in one word: “Desirelessness.”