A few poems of Saratchand Thiyam
Hill
You remain standing and
Don’t speak at all
You can suffer too, neither denying nor affirming,
Wearing a shawl of fire you can stand quietly.
When it’s evening your picture
Can be seen lucidly,
Standing with a clean shaven head.
The hills track that go bursting through
Amidst forests once green
Are gradually becoming red
With a group of people
Searching for a crown of laurel leaves.
This long road
Connecting Wordsworth to Eliot
Is being measured today with a yardstick.
You must know, having lived for centuries,
You have been wallowing in time’s tide
Even if speechless
For you is a matter of poise
But for the blame of generations
It has become fearsome war.
You could remain looking silently at
Two hands that shake happily,
Two cheeks are kissed affectionately
Turning into thorns nonetheless.
Raising its heads
Today’s generation is looking at today’s sky
It those white pigeons
Reared by majestic you have come soaring at all
(Translated from Manipuri by Robin S Ngangom)
Human Bomb
The most intimate
companion of the living
is death.
But
on aeroplanes,
on trains,
on buses,
on ships,
don’t want to travel with a human bomb.
Nudged by a uman bomb
those necks sticking out
from the top of a tall storey
burning with high flames
are looking for only a way to stay alive.
The human bomb utterly in love with death
approach one after another,
the markets the offices the house of the elite.
For one objective
they are proceeding ahead
arm in arm with death steadily
the humanbombs breeding in untold numbers
from man’s imagination
(Translated from Manipuri by Robin S Ngangom)
Race
You had run a race for life
the bomb and you,
trying to explode first.
When the bomb exploded
you also had the burst
into pieces.
The bomb had exploded earlier
even if it was only a tinkle of an eye.
That split second is s precious;
because a path to your destination
was glimpsed at that instant.
After that, on the path of the patriots,
your body, now reduced into pieces,
was strewn all over.
After collecting and gathering
those pieces together
many more are drwaing near
to follow in your footsteps.
(Translated from Manipuri by Tayenjam Bijoykumar Singh)
House
A bomb that was burried
inside the house
exploded loudly.
Who had buried it?
Why?
The house might know
(Translated from Manipuri by Tayenjam Bijoykumar Singh)
Gun Muzzle
In that directino a gun pointed
There’s bound to b enews
Of blood and tears.
Blood waiting to gush
Tears waiting to fall.
But then, it is not possible to prevent a thing
When a gun’s muzzle has been trained.
When that youth who journeyed seeking light
Returns coverd with a white cloth
Who wou’d like to receive him?
Gun muzzles to face each other sometimes
And grief become ordinary people’s lot.
No one to impute blame
Yet almost impossible to bear
How could the hands of all those souls
Push away a gun’s muzzle
Come to touch the life of an ordinary person
Impossible to avert
Nowhere one could run to
Impossible to hide.
Before all who worship their homeland
Before all who renounced all for their homeland
Ordinary folk who also love their land
Are covering bodies with a white cloth.
Who will through the huntre’
In the polo match of two gun muzzles
Where ordinary people become kangdroom?
In the chekphei being thrown by two gun muzzles
Who wil man the barricade?
But ordinary people are waiting
For the gun muzzles to be lowered
Or pointed to the sky.
Huntre’ – in Manipuri polo, an official called huntre’-hunda tosses the ball high up in the air and shuts huntre’ to indicate the start of play
Kangdroom- the ball in Manipuri hockey, which is made of bamboo root and is white in colour.
Chekphei- in kang chanda, an indigenous Manipuri indoor game, the game begins with a turn of chekphei, when a player throws the Kang, an oval object.
(Translated from Manipuri by Robin S Ngangom)
Sister
The rain has not let up
Don’t go out yet, sister
Its only a semblance of afternoon.
After it decided to live in
With night, its paramour
This is no longer the afternoon we recognize.
Your umbrella alone will be useless, sister.
You will not be able to cover
Your body from the raindrops.
Haven’t you heard this sound
The commotion in every home
Of the still incoherent babies.
Don’t you go sister
This rain is only becoming harder
Don’t you go sister
Don’t you go.
Look sister, every courtyard
Has become
Mangarak Kanbi.
Sister, I won’t allow you to go
Every road is reverberating
With the deafening utterance of boots.
Hide inside the house, sister
Don’t you go at all.
Mangarak Kanbi - Mangarak Kanbi is the name of a gorge in Manipur. Early Meiteis used to through the bodies of people who died of unnatural causes in Mangarak Kanbi.
(Translated from Manipuri by Robin S Ngangom)
Guwahati
Time and again, made to look healthy
by your open doors
When the illness shows up
your beautiful face suddenly darkens.
Being apprehensive you close your eyes
when you face those
who are plucking tea-leaves
in tea-gardens,
who are pumping our mineral oil,
in oil-wells.
Beating the dhol for the Bihu dance
you make the one who have taken refuse in your lap
jump in steps with joy
Turning your face away
you’re crying
for those who could not come and join
your joyous Bihu dance.
(Translated from Manipuri by Tayenjam Bijoykumar Singh)
About the Poet– Saratchan Thiyam, a Manipuri poet and travel writer, was born in 1961. A recipient of Sahitya Akademi (2006) and Jamini Sundar Guha Gold Medal from Manipuri Sahitya Parishad( 2002) awards, his collections of poetry include Tengali Karada Padon, Chho Chaboon , Africa, Yamlingdabasing-gi yum, Tsunami. He is also a travel writer.
About the translators
Robin S Ngangom is a bilingual poet and translator in Manipuri and English. His collections of poetry include Words and the Silence, Times Crossroads and The Desire of Roots. He received Udaya Bharati National Award and Katha Award for Translation.
Tayenjam Bijoykumar Singh is an Engineer by profession and creative writer who writes Poetry, shortstories and non-fiction in English and Manipuri. He received the Katha award fro translation in 2005. His shortstory collections include Turoi Ngamloiba Wagi Landan and Nang-ni Waree.