A picture I wish to paint,
of Manipur in its glory.
Of things that make me proud,
To be called a Manipuri.
Green meadows and golden fields,
abound with fruits and paddy.
Plenty to feed the mouths of every,
the hungry,the old and the weary.
And still enough left to keep,
for 'morrow and posterity.
Of streets and every nook lit abright,
so none ever is in darkness.
Of every hearth filled with warmth,
and every home blessed with happiness.
Of evenings filled with laughter and cheer,
And none ever has to shed a tear.
Of sharing and of caring,
so none ever has to live in fear.
But as my brush strokes my canvas,
The faces I see are only filled with tears,
the streets are gloomy, scary and dark,
and the lights are only homes on fire.
The people I see are left with little,
of the laughters and the cheers.
Hatred, anger and animosity,
is all there is left to share.
Neighbours have turned your foe,
and brothers have become not ur own.
Each conspire against the other,
And the others eyed with suspicion.
One attempts to stake his claim,
the other says naught it is mine.
Each feels that the other,
is going to take away his home.
Why can't we for once believe,
that Manipur is a home for us all.
And every Meitei,Naga,kuki and rest,
are children of the same soil.
Alas! for the echoes in my mind,
I know I shall be laughed at.
And the picture I wish to paint,
are lost in the strokes of fate.
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