The book 'Infinite Days to Come' is written by Sushma Gurumayum.
Fully adorned in a walking-cane, a neatly wrapped shawl over the shoulders...
"I heal and rejuvenate myself in your lap. Your breathtaking views, clear streams, musk roses..."
Sunday Musing: The journey the white capes take to be deemed worthy Is something most will never comprehend... a tribute.
Without any shadowed of opportunity across the hills as in the valley... To the days where people are helping instead of hurting
The award will be presented on February 25 in connection with the memorial observance of late Arambam Ibungohal and late Binodkumari.
Offer me the simple life... The minimalistic comfort... A two square meals...With a modest garden
The music was driving me crazy And the food was great as they cheer and dance!
The Chetibu Kaji, the Sacred Wild Pear tree, is said to be the oldest tree in the history of the Nagas. It is said that once all the Nagas lived at Makhel under the shade of the sacred tree.
Sunday Musing: Loneliness becomes the new normal As seasons change ever faster
SUNDAY MUSING: The ability to see the invisibility... Through our dreams and visions uncovers tomorrow's mystery
In the land of Kangleipak...No servant all are Lord... Drowning the culture of foreign...Everybody learnt the culture
A look into the mirror only reflects Face and flesh of our mortal form
SUNDAY MUSING: The bamboos were dark... The sky was sombre, So also were everybody's faces.
Isn't she brave? Is it not for her, the state tolls its bells? She goes to the battlefield, when everyone stays shut.
Because I never waited for him to get up.
'Will the arc of our story like the rainbow bend... Back on the intended road to sorrow’s end...'
Pelting my face to a glistening ruby gleam, Rinsing my hair to a gleaming ebony sheen, Soaking my soul like nourishing comfort soups...
And ah the clouds above - White fluffy, seamless puffs Like boats sailing In some celestial sea.
In the dark and the rain, amidst the mocking frogs and the relentless night-bugs I prayed for morning light.
And surely without doubt, We have lost our old world... O Corona!
Even so, time is still alive. Resting on it, who is alive?
On a blistering afternoon, it came free By the highway under a laburnum tree...
No war to fight for... No revolution to dream of... Just art
On a highway a man shuffles...Five days, three hundred miles...
When everlasting voyage cease – It stops, then freeze... Go on then live forever, Calculating the victories of ever.
In awe I read, of nature’s might and deeds, Season her faithful partner, shadowing her.
Amused by the little things... Finding bliss in little things... A hippie I will be.
Food in my mouth flowing... Chemicals and plastics all around... If I am a fish now, I’ll be lost anyhow.
My feet are stuck in the ground providing shelter and shade to weary birds and travellers... I don’t speak much nor complain about the wind...
Better had been my days, Ere you came from nowhere, Now I am no longer what I was...
As they mop, cook and wash... tycoons, corporate honchos and celebrities included, each one begins to feel like the other...
