By RK Lakhi Kant<\/p>\n
The little girl called her brother who,
\nbarely begun to walk, is at play;
\n“Come son, come. We’ll go back home now,” –
\nplacing him close to her chest.<\/p>\n
I heard words like these
\nfirst among the Manipuri people
\nwhen times were better in Manipur
\nand I was visiting the place.<\/p>\n
Coming forth from a
\npoverty-stricken little girl
\nin New Delhi’s village neighborhood
\nit was not so much of a surprise for me.<\/p>\n
I never looked down on the
\nIndian poor ’cause I was sure
\nthey are capable of something better;
\nsomething with verve, meaning to life.<\/p>\n
Respect, where adoration would
\nhave done ordinarily, attracted my mind;
\nSigh! Long since I heard
\nloving culture-intrinsic words like these.<\/p>\n
How forth does the cultural transformation come!
\nWhere from do these sweet words occur!
\nFreedom means to listen to such likeable words!<\/p>\n\n