~Pravin Rai Jumeli~
The painted winds of east
gushed, told a tale and vanished
Possessing the blanket knitted by cold and dust
the new flowers hided that tale
throughout their eyes
within their hearts
Years, as fishes in the water
slipped away from the time
the love of the town bulged as mountains
in the angles of desire
in the marshes of will
One night the awaken mother saw that
plucking the flowers from the stem of village
Gangtok1 was fleeing away
From that very night and in every night
Gangtok snatches and takes away the flowers
also the leaves, branches and stem
and one day, mother went there and saw:
Gangtok was not became a garden by so many flowers
again she returned and saw:
the songs of birds that Gangtok could not steal
also the tune of winds and the smell of earth
indeed it is impossible to steal the flats2 of solitude
oh, impossible is to rob the blue verse of sky
also the Sa Re Ga Ma Pa Dha Ni Sa3 of the streams
‘Mother, only flowers are not your offspring
these songs, these tunes and these smells
these flats, these verses and
the ascending scales of musical notes
are also your children
You are not solitary, mother
not you are alone’:
Saying this the flowers of Lalpatey3
showed her palm
Mother picked the radiance of the Sun
and hided within her womb.
-Praveen Rai Jumelo
Joom Basti, West Sikkim
