Manipur burns, again.
If I take a walk
up the Kangla fort,
what will I see?
Will I still see women
selling vegetables
in softly dressed attire?
Will the market still make
its humming bird sound?
Or will I hear only
of buses burnt,
the whiff of curfew,
of human bondage?
The skies once again
overcast with clouds;
women no longer sing,
children no longer play,
Manipur burns, again.
The Kangla fort, with the
King's visage, still
not outsmarted.
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