IF WE ONLY KNEW

There is you and there is me who fails to see what lies beneath the theme of the living and the dead.

What if the shoes, which I admire were mine, for I am tired of walking barefoot in the thorny path.

What if the bread you so lavishly throw on the dusty ground were the grace for my plate. Hungry am I for months.

What if the child you curse, where mine for I have been barren since the day I wanted one.

What if the blood shed on the striking grounds of power were the ones that fill the vacant vase of the synagogue.

What if the girl you are going to marry is the one whom you hated for so long.

What if you understood me so well that you have the courage to embrace the Devil within me.

Whatever it is, there is a strong string of things that are left unsaid.

*The edited version of this poem can be found in Ayangti Longkumer's Magic Quill.

ARRIVING AT AN AGE

                  

When the true endurance speaks will the world listen?

Where is the freedom which the writers of glories century had mentioned?

Will there be a place for equality to prevail, even if in minimum?

Why does hatred never fail to breed and gather soldiers of its own?

Why are the love, unity and harmony, long lost kind of thing?

Feathers from an unseen world tends to tame the rule,

The casted shadow even at 12 0’ clock noon;

I hear an unfed child crying, will someone hold her?

What age have we arrived at?

Lives battered by wars and losses, tortured and tormented,

The misery of the people are decorated rather than documented.

If the picture is of such kind for long, then will there be survivors from such rush,

More I wonder, but little do I know.

AS I GRADUATED FROM DIAPERS TO JEANS

When I was a child, I got scolding for sketching on the wall; it was the first suppression of my creativity. They never tried to understand what I wanted to convey through those indefinable objects. Today, I wonder how many will get the message I want to convey (if there is any) through this note, Anyway, I start off by asking;

Tell me if you know why some of the best books were written when the writer was in prison? A prison made from the bricks of his experiences of betrayal, defeat, loss, tragedies, and wisdom of what the world is made of.

As a young girl, when I heard people talking about freedom, the only picture that came to my mind was of a bird inside a cage.

But, as I grew older I learned that there are people who stay happy in the cage; for they believe that if they are freed then in no time the hunter will have his victory.

The brightest of the mind I know fears, not in sudden death or being visited by some deadly disease, but the blankness in imagination that creeps in them occasionally.

I know they become so numb, their thoughts gets frozen, nothing flashes to their mind and nothing does they think of except the knowingness that they are not thinking at all. When it comes to me, I think of colours.

Doing what you don’t love is a catalyst for boredom, and it often visits me, but I am sure that it visits everyone.

In my anger, I feel the pebbles on the road have more sensitivity than me, but they are not; for when it rains they cannot sit and write poem lauding the smell of the green pine.

I keep wondering why we forget to enjoy and appreciate the very little things in life, why do we forget that we are creating memories, why do we forget that whatever we are doing is something extraordinary for the same mono- second will never ever come back again, why do we lament so much that we are ordinary, when we are not?

I have my own insecurities, but it fades away as soon as I remind myself that what I have they do not possess.

Life’s revolves around so many turns, and who are we to settle for a theme we detest.

Love encourages finding beauty in simple things and solutions in complexities.

Life was not fair, and will also be so; love being supreme makes life tolerable.

Having peace from the prayer of the women, the children, the greens; this life within me does not want to give up on what I believe is true.

                                     I too know that the union of man and his universe is infinite……

CHASING RAINBOW

Will my life be worth living if it is not for the dream I am holding?

Every day I look at the dawn, and see my horizon an inch closer to me,

The greatness I want to achieve needs diligence;

Yet! I have to constantly brush off my doubts of not seeing rain of contentment.

Where do I get my hopes and strength from? For the road to success in not car in a posh street,

In every twist and turns I am global by choices; will the right one be the best one?

I have to look at the sky and gave more than a passing glance;

I cannot take a day or a night for granted.

Day by day I am learning to grow, running when others crawling,

I am not going to give up fighting for my dreams to come true;

There might be thunders of disappointments, lightings of frustration welcoming a storm,

But I will be strong, for my dreams will have splendid colours- I am chasing rainbow.

*The edited version of this poem can be found in Ayangti Longkumer's Magic Quill.