The actor from the North-East,

The Formless Brahma.

I can see all aroundAs Chaitra is coming to a closeAnd Baisakh to startWith the the bhoktas, sanyasinsIn full spiritsPassing through the waysOf the nightWith the band.

Mizo hills and villages,Blue-blue hillsSunny and green and beautifulWith the ways cut in between the hillsWith a culture, tradition and living of their own,The myth and mysticism of their own.Someone from the traditional houseCalling, calling usA small girl child toddling lookingAnd callingWith a palm leaf broomstickSweeping the floor of her houseAnd greeting,Calling from her home.

The nights echoing wioth their shrieks and cries,Letting me not sleep

The heat of the day beginning to fallAnd getting stronger,The winds to swirlWith dust, dry leaves and loo.But the revellers and rowdiesDrowned unto their full,Having taken bhang,Flying skywards and smilingWithout any reasonOr the seasoned onesLooking dulled.People sprinkling, spraying coloured watersOn the passers-by,Run amuck,Dancing, singing and playingAnd lost in,Lost out of themselves.But Holi remains it not…

Calling.A small KartikeyaLying under the open skiesYou let me in, father.Who, who you areFather in a dream babbling?I am a small, small KartikeyaLying under the open skies.Am shivering, shivering with sold,Please, please let me in,Father, father.Who, who,Who is it callingAwoken from the dream?But to surprise, the gentleman seeingA small Kartikeya idolLying near the gate.Calling, father,…