Guwahati,

Poetry

POETRY

Immigrants

Robin S Ngangom
 
 
Inside houses of cloud-catching mountains
We wait for the resolute flutes of rain to stop.
Herded all along the highway in water/slime
The last wave of leaves, displaced by a regime,
Under perforated tents of October trees.
 
Something made us lonelier
We let too many immigrants into our hearts.
Disproportionate destiny left us speechless.
................................
My Invented Land
(After Mario Meléndez)
Robin S Ngangom
 
My native soil was created from tiny sparks
that clung to grandmother's earthen pot
which conjured savoury dishes
I've been looking for all my life in vain.
My homeland has no boundaries.
At cockcrow one day it found itself
inside a country to its west,
(on rainy days it dreams looking east
when its seditionists fight to liberate it from history.)
My people have disinterred their alphabet,
burnt down decrepit libraries
in a last gasp of nationalism,
even as a hairstyle of native women
have been allowed to become extinct.
My native place has not been christened yet
my homeland, a travelogue without end,
a plate that will always be greedy
(but got rice mixed with stones)
My home has young people
who found their dreams in a white substance
and the old that transplanted their eyes,
it has leaders who have disappeared
into their caricatures.
My home is a gun
pressed against both temples
a knock on a night that has not ended
a torch lit long after the theft
a sonnet about body counts undoubtedly raped
definitely abandoned
in a tryst with destiny*.
*A reference to Nehru's famous speech delivered on 14 August 1947, on the eve of India's independence
 
...........................
The Pen and the Pain
Swapnajyoti Bordoloi
 
 
 
 
It's alright...
Love is said to 
Balance the universe, 
The night and the day,
The sun, Moon and the stars,
The greatest proof of 
A sane mind and heart;
But what about The misfit poets 
Amid all...Smiling and crying all
To themselves,Where do they stand...
Lost in the alleys of sanity 
And insanity both 
At the same time? Dead stars they are 
From another time, Although often 
You see them shining;
Lifeless, perhaps from eons ago,
Yet death, when it 
Arrived to kiss them goodbye,
But couldn't take 
Away their 
Adamant souls elsewhere,
Time traveling to you each night,
As if an unuttered promise 
Long ago made...
A promise to wait forever...
Every year with the 
Fallen Xewali at 
The gates!
................................
I am the Drop of Rain
Easterine Kire
 
 I am the drop of rain
I am the flake of snow
Landing on your shoulders
I am the gust of wind
Trapped in your hair
 My mother is the mountain
My father is the sky
 I fall
I fly
I float
I laugh
I love
I dance
My mother is the mountain
My mother is the earth
My mother is the autumn forest
Birthing wind and new rain.
My father is the sky
My father laughs and wraps the clouds around him.
Blessing of the hills
Sun on your shoulders
And wind gentle on your face
May you go forth in joy and in contentment.
I shall bid the last blue mountain
To lend you shade should you need it
And the birds to light your way with song
And if you should still feel lonesome
I shall bid the evening star to lead you quietly home.