In Manipur's hills, where emerald fields stretch wide,
A mother's heart weeps, her children pushed aside.
Amidst the strife, where night embraces fear,
A land abandoned, left to shed a silent tear.
Like a mother who flees, her offspring left alone,
Manipur stands vulnerable, its fate unknown.
Once cradled in love, now tossed by the hands of fate,
As a forsaken child, left to navigate
Through rugged paths, where conflict's thorns entwine,
Manipur weeps in silence, its dreams resigned.
A mother's embrace, now a distant memory,
As the land yearns for peace, a forgotten legacy.
In the shadowed valleys, where tears stain the earth,
Manipur pleads for solace, for a new birth.
A mother's absence, a void that cuts so deep,
As the land awaits healing, in restless sleep.
O' Manipur, like a child in the wild,
Seeking warmth, seeking love, like an innocent child.
Embrace the hope that flickers in the darkest night,
For a mother's love, though absent, still holds might.
In the echoes of gunshots, in the whispers of despair,
May Manipur find strength, may it rise and repair.
Let the wounds of yesteryears find their way to mend,
As a mother's love, though hidden, will not bend.
A land forsaken, yet resilient in its might,
Manipur, like a child, yearning for the light.
Amidst the chaos, let hope's ember brightly burn,
For a mother's love, though tattered, will return.
In the cradle of time, may Manipur find its peace,
May its longing heartache and anguish finally cease.
For a mother's love, though tested, still holds sway,
As Manipur rises, to a brighter, hopeful day.
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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