The skies were dark, a shadow draped in woe. A grief so deep, it chased the light away, As hearts bowed low beneath its heavy blow.
The winds seemed hushed, the earth itself stood still, And every breath was weighted with the past. The echoes of a loss no time could fill, A sorrow deep, too powerful to cast.
Yet in the blackest night, a spark remains, A flame that flickers, fragile, yet it's there. Through tears and pain, through all the silent strains, The strength to rise endures within the air.
We honor now the fallen in the strife, Their memory lives on, their hope, their life.
THE SILENT STRAINS OF SORROW
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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