Manipur’s Lament

In the cradle of hills where rivers sing,
Manipur dreams of eternal spring.
But now her valleys weep and wail,
As shadows of conflict tell a tale.

The sky once clear, now shrouded in pain,
Her fields of gold, blood-streaked with stain.
Brothers turned foes, hearts torn apart,
The bonds of love, a shattered art.

The winds carry whispers of anguish and strife,
Mothers mourning their children’s life.
Temples and mosques, their prayers collide,
As peace is lost in a growing divide.

Oh, hills that echo the tribal song,
And plains that toiled all summer long,
Why do your children forget their ties,
And fill the air with hopeless cries?

Can swords and guns sow seeds of peace?
Or will hatred’s flames never cease?
The rivers beg to flow unred,
And cradle dreams of love instead.

Manipur, dear jewel of the east,
Rise again as a land of feast.
Heal the wounds, embrace the pain,
And let unity bloom once again.

Poet
Rustam Khan