In the cradle of hills where rivers sing,
\nManipur dreams of eternal spring.
\nBut now her valleys weep and wail,
\nAs shadows of conflict tell a tale.<\/p>\n
The sky once clear, now shrouded in pain,
\nHer fields of gold, blood-streaked with stain.
\nBrothers turned foes, hearts torn apart,
\nThe bonds of love, a shattered art.<\/p>\n
The winds carry whispers of anguish and strife,
\nMothers mourning their children\u2019s life.
\nTemples and mosques, their prayers collide,
\nAs peace is lost in a growing divide.<\/p>\n
Oh, hills that echo the tribal song,
\nAnd plains that toiled all summer long,
\nWhy do your children forget their ties,
\nAnd fill the air with hopeless cries?<\/p>\n
Can swords and guns sow seeds of peace?
\nOr will hatred\u2019s flames never cease?
\nThe rivers beg to flow unred,
\nAnd cradle dreams of love instead.<\/p>\n
Manipur, dear jewel of the east,
\nRise again as a land of feast.
\nHeal the wounds, embrace the pain,
\nAnd let unity bloom once again.<\/p>\n
Poet
\nRustam Khan<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"