The orange at the season's end
M Nandakishore *
With a sneer in the mind you think
He's as tiny as the segment of an orange at the season's end
And shall be made to will like the balsam in Langban Month
But his heart will be fired by the bullet from the bursting gun,
And the flower'll grow afresh again to smile.
Unequal was the starting point, so will finishing be,
The road, of course, is the same for you-me-and him,
Shake you pleased as you sit cross-legged in the high palanquin,
But crouched I'm on the lowly ground
As I search the seat of Him who's beyond change.
Yet my happy friend, forgotten you have
He too is a man-waiting in the crowd for a kind look
For a drop of the same wetness that you've tasted
And of an attitude of a healthy tomorrow;
Dreaming I am of a mould of a new order.
For all to live together at the altar of the changeless Him
We are at the seam-joint between the plant and the rain
Let us one go together in a chariot of flower
Carrying the image of life heart's desire;
Make me too reach my destination, like you have
Manipuri, Komla Heirol
Translated : Dhanamajuri L
* Poem written by M Nandakishore for Hueiyen Lanpao
This poem was webcasted on April 09 2015.
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