winds of change

O’ MANIPUR

Deserted streets; burning tires,
Bandhs, rallies, boycotts.
Burned-out effigies, deadly Molotovs
Grim faced men in battle fatigues.
Armored cars, shrieking sirens.
Guns, guns, and even more guns.

Ambushes, blasts, cross fires.
Blinding bombs; trampling boots.
Sacred white; splattered with crimson blood.
Burning pyres, weeping widows.
Anguished wails, chest-thumping mothers.
Blood and tears mingled.

Hushed tones, fearful eyes.
Repressed laughter, sighs of resignation.
Broken dreams; bleak horizons.
Corruption, shattered economy.
Lawlessness; trepidation at every step.

Drugs, HIV, AIDS.
Muddy pockmarked faces.
Caught in the tentacle of AIDS.
A new breed of widows,
orphans, flesh sellers, deserted by fate.
Teenaged moms; raped innocence.

Spineless leaders; vultures of politicians.
Pseudo intellectuals, misplaced patriotism.
Lost ideals; rebels without a cause.
Mushrooming greedy, faceless groups.
Rule of the gun; reign of terror.

Forsaken villages, bald hills;
Charred tree stumps.
Flood with rains; drought without rains.
Water, water, everywhere...
But not a drop to drink.

What has become of you,
O’ mother?
Forgive us,
for we know not,
where we’re heading.