Burma By Nick Boldock

Corpses float in bloated rivers From which children take the only water they can get Infested with death and disease, they drink it in Desperate and hungry and with nowhere else to go. Shanty towns spring up in nowhere lands, Made by the hands of dying Burmese, A last ditch attempt to build their own camps and rescue something, Anything, From this living hell. But troops come, and the shacks are torn down, Women and children sent back before guns to villages still under water, Where dead bodies outnumber buildings still standing. No oil with which to justify intervention, No common enemy, No terrorists in the immediate vicinity... What hope is there, as Burma lies dying?

Copyright © Nick Boldock 2008

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