A MOMENT OF AFFINITY

When flowers wane and wilt on their stalks

to plummet and scatter away:

the refined subtle moment

is so truly alluring!

So yearning indeed!

What a beauty,

what a splendor?

Oh! It’s the unsurpassed.

The final furtive conversation

of the flower and the stem,

their passionate embrace

and a desperate parting kiss…

The one last tick

as teardrops turned to lucid dewdrops

and fell down the soil…

In this moment of affinity

with the blossom and the stem

I found joy of a kind.

--

(Translated by Poreinganba Thangjam from the original Manipuri poem 'Sak-khangnarungei'

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WOMEN

Draping, the radiance of the sun sprawled
over a cool and unflustered dawn;
the unsullied dewdrops that recline
on the long curved blades of tumnou ee*
slither down with a hope to adhere to the earth
in a polished unhurried pace.

As the sunbeams stroke,
the dewdrop morphs into vapour;
astrayed before it felt the ground.


* tumou ee - elephant grass
--
(Translated by Poireinganba Thangjam from the original Manipuri poem 'Nupi')

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WEEP NO MORE, I'LL SING YOU A LULLABY

Never in my life
have I seen you weeping so loud

You had always been
a serene maiden –
a portent of rejuvenation,
of life and of jade Spring.

But,
are you here today
as a harbinger of misery and woe?
Or are you drifting wild
on a dream for newer horizon?
Or, are you here
to wash the filth down
from these soiled clothes?

Tell me, O April’s rain
What news you do bring
as you send torrents to tears
cascading down
like a woman mourning
over her sweet husband’s death.

O April’s rain,
the Sniffy Spurt of June hasn’t
arrived yet,
and the emerald Spring too hasn’t
turned up as yet.

And so,
stop crying and let your tears
peter out.
Let me lull you to sleep
And let me carry you, sweet babe,
slung across my back and
wrapped in a sturdy shawl.

Come, come little one, weep no more,
Come and I’ll sing you a lullaby.


--
(Translated by Chingkheinganba Thangjam from the original Manipuri poem 'Kaplaganu Huum Themlage' )

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AMID THE MONSOON RAIN

The monsoon rain
drizzle in strings traversing the mountain-top,
as leaves sway in the bamboo grove
weathering with a frail sustain
the brawny breath of the wind.

Inside a crumbling hovel,
atop an aged bamboo cot;
sat a young lovely woman
warmly holding her babe close to the bosoms.

Through the slit on the broken roof
they slink past
tagging along each other –
the lashing spell of rain,
towards the mother and child.

Likened to glittery gold that endured the fervent heat,
on the dainty visage
stroke a tint of hope;
as she saw
the pleasing face of her child.


--
(Translated by Poireinganba Thangjam from the original Manipuri poem 'Ingaagi Nongjulakta')

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