Source : Dancing Earth
Monsoon
Guru T. Ladakhi
Two clouds walk with moist feet
over the shoulders of the opposite hill
picking sunshine from the undergrowth.
Rains keep us indoors mostly
tossing the bones of forgotten promises
that lie at the doorway
like ancient servants who summon themselves
between damp hours with tea and biscuits.
---
The River
Mamang Dai
... I thought the river is a woman.
A country, a name,
a note of music trapped in the white current,
a sheet of paper carrying a secret map;
the skyline is where it begins
between the darkness and the summit
in the birthplace of thirst
Do not stay too long by the river.
It is a drowning spirit,
a strong-armed god
drawing and withdrawing such seasons,
flowing river, standing still,
river sea. River ocean.
River of all our summers
collecting the salt of our lives.
---
God
Ananya Guha
A petal trembling falls
Hands reach out
Trees shake with grey fear
Withered leaves lament
Perched on top of a mountain
Against the backdrop of
Calm, stark blue
Against the backdrop of a storm, of compassion
is God
---
Gangtok, January, Night
Rajendra Bhandari
... Sometimes Gangtok loses at mahjong and sighs,
sometimes she wins and rejoices.
In a minute,
the heart warms, the heart dampens.
The rivers dry up in a matter of moments.
The prayer flags keep muttering
day after night
and night after day.
The Buddha of the Enchey Monastery sermonizes
the endless epic of
birth, old age and death.
The pines at Nam Nam
stoop searching for Sikkim.
Roads roll up the villages, stalking Sikkim.
Villages come to meet Sikkim
amidst Gangtok's tall buildings....
---
Please Come, Dear, Crossing That Small Bridge
Sudha M Rai
Mamang Dai
... I thought the river is a woman.
A country, a name,
a note of music trapped in the white current,
a sheet of paper carrying a secret map;
the skyline is where it begins
between the darkness and the summit
in the birthplace of thirst
Do not stay too long by the river.
It is a drowning spirit,
a strong-armed god
drawing and withdrawing such seasons,
flowing river, standing still,
river sea. River ocean.
River of all our summers
collecting the salt of our lives.
---
God
Ananya Guha
A petal trembling falls
Hands reach out
Trees shake with grey fear
Withered leaves lament
Perched on top of a mountain
Against the backdrop of
Calm, stark blue
Against the backdrop of a storm, of compassion
is God
---
Gangtok, January, Night
Rajendra Bhandari
... Sometimes Gangtok loses at mahjong and sighs,
sometimes she wins and rejoices.
In a minute,
the heart warms, the heart dampens.
The rivers dry up in a matter of moments.
The prayer flags keep muttering
day after night
and night after day.
The Buddha of the Enchey Monastery sermonizes
the endless epic of
birth, old age and death.
The pines at Nam Nam
stoop searching for Sikkim.
Roads roll up the villages, stalking Sikkim.
Villages come to meet Sikkim
amidst Gangtok's tall buildings....
---
Please Come, Dear, Crossing That Small Bridge
Sudha M Rai
Translated from Nepali by Pamela Gajmer
Only that tiny bridge exists between you and I
To make our love travel to and fro.
..... Like full-bloomed flowers I'm there to welcome you.
Otherwise too,
The doors of my heart are open for ages.
Please come bare feet, slowly in cat's steps,
Carrying the foot-cover of the future in your hands,
Carrying the bundle of remembrance on shoulders,
Crossing the small bridge built by our ancestors.
Otherwise too,
Many days have passed with no exchange of love
Between you and I,
The victim struck by flood.
---
Clouds of Olive
Only that tiny bridge exists between you and I
To make our love travel to and fro.
..... Like full-bloomed flowers I'm there to welcome you.
Otherwise too,
The doors of my heart are open for ages.
Please come bare feet, slowly in cat's steps,
Carrying the foot-cover of the future in your hands,
Carrying the bundle of remembrance on shoulders,
Crossing the small bridge built by our ancestors.
Otherwise too,
Many days have passed with no exchange of love
Between you and I,
The victim struck by flood.
---
Clouds of Olive
Saratchand Thiyam
Translated from Manipuri by Robin S. Ngangom
I sent a letter
Written by my own hands
I'd asked many questions
How are you in such times?
Never got a reply
Not a single word conveyed
During this long period.
Didn't she even get time to read
Let alone send a reply? ...
... If these were true
It's doubtful if she would write back
If she would ever reply.
If all these had not occurred
She would surely have replied
Making a clean breast of joys and sufferings.
Relater that she is
She is unaccustomed to not replying letters.
This letter which never got a reply
Points out today that
She and things around her
Must be facing undoubtedly
Monstrosities and torment.
---
Source : Dancing Earth Penguin Books India 2009
Source : Dancing Earth Penguin Books India 2009
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