The smoke breaking free from fire
Scattering in the sky
The lamppost across fields leaning on air
Naked wire entangling on it
The shallow water reflecting the hunger
Of the fishing ladies and the farmers.
Water droplets on the leaves
Teasing the eyes of many fools
The long and tall bamboos bending
Bearing the weight of black crows
The ashes been blown to the eyes of the people
The ashes of the death
They go blind, they see no routes
Moonlit nights open the eyes of blind
Oh! The leaves move in the wind
The droplets strike the ground
Before I can let go my thirstiness
The birds been disturbed at nights too
The young men dozing under the old banyan tree
Upon their wet towel after a bath in the Imphal river
The old men sitting and day dreaming
In the courtyards
Watching their daughter-in-laws
Mopping the floors
Weaving and knitting
their incomplete dream like warm cloths.
The one and only mother market
fills with noise and commotion
The prostitutes in their slangs communicating
Looking for young rich men
Who will listen to their mournful screams
The ladies from hills bargaining the price of the day
The protestors sitting in every corner
Cursing the armies and their laughter
And every tea hotel has the newspaper
With the picture of the fasting lady
Every solid angle I look at
I can see the tired soldiers patrolling
Pretending tough and cruel
If I smell gunpowder
I know what tomorrow might bring to the roads
