Versetile

My Shillong

Where the meandering roads
intersperse among the pine trees
Where clouds caress
the rain soaked meadows
Where orchids and rhododendrons
invigorate the joggers with fragrance
Where green groves are revered
and are a part of the folklore
Where mother lullaby young ones
to nurture and worship nature.
My city, my locality has grown.
But has lost its charm and beauty.
Greed and malice have sheen off godliness.
Dirt, plastics and garbage have swamped my presence.
Parasites, rodents and diseases are the new
lodgers of my beautiful abode
My locality, my city is now
gasping and choking in necrosis.

Josojit Dey

Page to turn

Turning through my notebook pages I read.
A note read, “Oh, I wish I was dead.”
This was when I was in a state of depression.
Where I didn’t have courage.

I used to hear voices in my mind.
Which would make me want to do things which weren’t fine.
Whose scar remains and never fades.

I would usually be alone and shed my tears.
Thoughts of suicide came with zero fears.
Those were the days where I had no faith.
Both in myself and God.

Even small things hurt me.
Maybe this was a reality check
And life was teaching me a lesson.
Which I should probably learn.
For life have many pages, which I have to turn.

Nikrang Kongkal Marak
In Her Underwear

She looks down at the busy street
from his window.
It’s late morning
and she’s in her underwear.
Then she looks at him.
There he lies asleep,
having had the pleasure of the night.
She could feel her baby cry in that dingy lamp-lit room
where her husband welcomes friends.
They say a mother can always sense her baby’s crying
even when she’s afar.
It’s usually at this time that the
baby needs milk.
She takes the money in the side table,
slips it in her bra,
and silently walks out the door.
As she treads the pavement
where people look at her with hateful eyes,
tears begin to flow.
She takes out her black sunglasses
from her bag,
and puts them on to make them think
that she fears the hot sun.

Willie Gordon Suting

Close the windows

In the Empire of Silence
Close the windows or else spring
will turn summer

Close the windows Comrade!
Or else in the light this world
will discover the jackal in you

Scented flowers will perish
and the greenish woods
will fall leafs fearlessly

Close the windows Comrade!
and learn to fear in dark.

Manas Ranjan Mahapatra

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