From Meza Mountain's melancholy shade my heart turns home-ward.
There Bo tree roots now run with water poured by festive hands.
Here gray sands lie about me, desolate.
Thoughts span the wastes that lie between.
Pulsing, throbbing, longing
Toward Shwe'bo, seat of victory where
Great Bo Daw sits enthroned among the myriad shrines.
Deep in obeisance I incline.
Sun rays fold me round about when cold winds
Whining, mourning, thrusting,
Search and chill. No shield I find
When sad, disconsolate remembrances come crowding.
Here pure, clear waters sound unceasingly.
Dews fall and fill the skies as thick as rain
Gathering, darkening, glooming,
The far off mountain summits breasting,
The whole of heaven's vault to mists of blue is changing.
AWAY-YAUK-MIN ("The Exiled Noble"), Mèza-gyaung