The Hunger Still Breathes

By Yengkhom Lucky Singh

Into the new city,

into the new air,

into the crowd of strangers,

I stepped into a life unknown —

carrying the hope of triumph.

Around me stood warriors I had never met,

yet I knew what they were:

fragments of a greater army,

fighters like me,

drawn to this battlefield to claim the crown.

Their swords spoke mastery;

their uniforms dripped with the hunger

of those who had fought a hundred battles before.

But I did not fear them —

not for an inch.

I did not step back

from the field I had chosen.

Deep in my soul, fearlessness roared.

Deep in my heart, relentlessness rose.

Deep in my mind, maps of survival were drawn — to endure.

Days became weeks,

weeks bled into months,

months into years.

The battle raged quietly —

veiled in the disguise of friendship.

Some bonds were true,

others only theater.

I kept my kindness,

my humility,

my politeness.

But inside, I trained the hungry devil —

the worst of the worst,

the best of the best,

a creature who refused to simply exist

but to etch his name into the bones of history.

And when the battle ended,

I left neither crowned nor crushed —

an unseen, uncelebrated soldier,

walking home without the garland of victory.

Yet even in defeat,

a strange fire burned.

This morning, it flared again.

I woke from dreams of old wars

into the harsher reality of today’s campaign.

Scrolling through the faces of past rivals —

now comrades in a greater struggle —

I saw them, too, preparing for battles ahead:

different fields,

different crowns,

but the same destiny —

to write the history of our generation.

Some will rise to power.

Some will burn. 

Some will lead. 

Some will live. 

Some will just exist. 

As for me —

I will rise, rule, and lead. 

Because the hunger still breathes.

Yes, the hunger still breathes — fiercer than ever.

By Yengkhom Lucky Singh