A Cry For Peace

By Kakchingtabam Ritesh Sharma

In Manipur's embrace, where rivers run free,

And mountains stand tall, a fierce canopy,

Once lived a people of kin, heart, and soil,

Now torn by strife, by sorrow and toil.

What began as whispers, a crack in the stone,

Grew into shouts, a wail, a moan.

Communities bound by the roots of their birth,

Now face each other in anger and dearth.

The rich tapestry woven in time’s gentle thread,

Of customs and faith, now frayed and spread.

Ethnic colors that once blended bright,

Turned to shadows in the cold, bitter night.

What is this war that tears through the land,

Through forested hills and fields of sand?

Brothers who shared the same morning light,

Now find themselves divided in plight.

Children's laughter lost in the clash,

Homes reduced to rubble and ash.

Mothers who mourn, fathers who ache,

A wound too deep for any to fake.

Who recalls the songs that were sung,

The words of wisdom from the old and young?

Or the feasts that brought villages near,

Now stained by suspicion, tinged by fear.

Manipur bleeds in colors unseen,

A tragic red on a lush, green scene.

As fires burn and tempers flare,

Love and mercy vanish into thin air.

Yet in the silence, if one could hear,

A whisper of unity draws near.

For somewhere beneath the cries of pain,

Lies a longing for peace, a prayer for rain.

May hands once clenched in fury tight,

Unfold in peace, to shield from night.

For love that grows on the same shared earth

Knows no bounds of caste or birth.

It’s time to lay the weapons low,

And let forgiveness start to grow.

To mend the rift, to heal the scar,

To see each other as we truly are.

May Manipur rise from this tale of woe,

Stronger, united, with spirits aglow.

For in every heart, there's a seed of grace,

A hope for peace, a sacred place.

Let children laugh once more in peace,

Let old wounds heal, let hatred cease.

For Manipur's soul, though battered and torn,

Still longs to greet a peaceful morn.

By Kakchingtabam Ritesh Sharma