Up here on these hills
time moves
at snail’s pace
on winding roads.
Wind passing through
scented pines conducts
needle orchestra.
Cuckoo’s call beyond
joins the symphony.
Come night,
doors shut to bar
shots that shatter
silence often,
staining green hills
red.
Once, on these lovely hills
your soul roamed free
gathering mushrooms,
picking pine cones,
till misty dusk.
Then by fireside
you read of hope,
and dreamt sweet dreams
of better tomorrow.
But the day
failed to arrive;
twilight lingered,
hearts turned cold,
smiles turned sour.
Time moves on
unhurried.
Freedom is lost
in the searching.
Guns shout aloud
drowning voices.
The mistreated hills
sleep on.
Malsawmi Jacob works with SPARROW and has published a book of her poetry. She grew up in beautiful, pine-forested Shillong, Meghalaya which has since become a trouble spot and this poem reflects that sad passage of history.
Picture: Landscape in watercolour by Tlangrokhuma
A really melancholic, sad poem, reflecting the sad, present reality in our beloved hills....
ReplyDeleteOnce, on those hills,
A lifetime ago,
I once did roam
Even now, I still roam
In my beloved hills,
If only in my mind
nice blog keep it up..
ReplyDeleteNice one
ReplyDeleteI love the hills
Miss them too
Keep writing!
i love the way this poem says what it has to say-not in anger (though it is there) not in bitterness (though it is there too) but in weariness. and somehow, because, maybe, of the first lines, there is a whiff of hope.
ReplyDelete