The passing of time, now spring it is
T’was unkind of it to not slow,
A reverie as the hours go,
Everything that happened a hiraeth,
But not the storms we bore since,
The memory sleeps beneath the gray
Of any well remembered day.
Anywise almost hilarious it is,
Of how it took a single day,
To get stripped from all that you’ve known,
A home that’s been your lifelong comfort,
Your life and everyday existence,
Snuffed out and reduced to mere subsistence,
All in just one day.
Coping with the rubbles and traumas
Making our way through the ruins,
In two months time will make a year,
Yet our lives are still far from okay.
For Fateful May still haunt us long,
With wounds, losses, griefs of yesterday,
Which is scarred for evermore.
Thingkho Le Malcha (TLM) is a traditional method of communication used to send out messages across the Kuki hills during the Anglo-Kuki War,1917-1919... more
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