Where Silence Prevails

Where silence Prevails 

Golden Ashes flow 

In a spotless shine 

It all glitters and slow 

Life is beautiful , 

Like transparent reflection of light

The shiny moonlit sky 

And the satellite night 

I can hear the whisper 

Of ever flowing breeze 

Blazing of the thunder 

Against the standing tall tress.

My pain fades away 

Looking at the wonderful nature 

It brings joy and happiness

In all the worldly creature.

~Bidhata Marak

BIO: Bidhata Marak, a dedicated student at Navodaya Vidyalaya Gomati, has a profound passion for literature. She finds joy in exploring the world of words through her hobbies of writing poetry and delving into literary books. Her creative spirit and love for storytelling reflect her aspiration to contribute meaningfully to the literary world.

Banjhakri

 In the depths of forests where they dance, 

Where mystic whispers weave a trance, 

There dwells a duo, ancient and wild, 

Banjhakri and Banjhakrini, untamed and beguiled.

Banjhakri, the trickster with ears so large, 

A forested shaman, an enigmatic charge, 

Sun's descendant, with matted hair and golden drum, 

Guiding chosen ones where the spirits hum.

Banjhakrini, ursine and humanoid in her form, 

Bloodthirsty yet nurturing, in the forest storm, 

Long hair cascades, backward feet leave prints unseen, 

In her embrace, a shaman's fate begins, serene.

Legends tell of their abductions, both feared and revered, 

Children chosen, into their realm steered, 

In caverns deep, where initiation breathes, 

Shamanic secrets whisper through ancient leaves.

They walk between worlds, seen by the chosen few, 

Guardians of nature, their presence true, In Darjeeling hills and Sikkim's terrace, 

Their essence lingers, mystic and grace.

Banjhakri and Banjhakrini, spirits wise, 

Teaching wisdom from the time rise, 

In forests deep, where they roam free, 

They shape destiny with shamanic decree.

So listen closely to the forest's call, 

Where Banjhakri's drum beats, summoning all, 

And Banjhakrini's gaze, fierce yet kind, 

Guides the chosen to realms undefined.

In the heart of nature, Banjhakri reside, 

And Banjhakrini on his side, 

Shamans, guardians of the forests, 

Trains teaches the little guests.

Sorah Shraddh

 In the golden light of Bhadra's morn, 

Where whispers of ancestors are reborn, 

We gather by rivers, calm and wide, 

To observe Sorah Shradh in the open tide.

Sixteenth day, a solemn rite, 

Underneath the sun's gentle light, 

We offer prayers with reverence deep, 

For those in the family in eternal sleep.

Rice and lentils, offerings made, 

To honour ancestors' guiding shade,

Their blessings sought, with holy spirits near, 

In this sacred time of the year.

With folded hands and voices clear, 

Mantras echo for all to hear, 

Each gesture, each hymn, a heartfelt plea, 

For grace and blessings, pure and free.

Sorah Sradha, a sacred start, 

To Dashain's joy, where spirits impart, 

Strength and love from ages past, 

This lovely bond forever last.

In the golden light of Bhadra's morn, 

Where whispers of ancestors are reborn, 

Sorah Sradha's connect we stand, 

Guided by their eternal hand.

Langsimbruid

 In Jaintia's hills' ringing of morning bell,

Amidst green slopes where legends dwell, 

A sport of strength, of bulls untamed, 

Langsimbruid, where honour claimed.

In winter mornings, drums resound, 

As villagers gather all around, 

With hearts that beat in rhythmic cheer, 

To witness bulls with courage sheer.

Amidst the fields, the bulls engage, 

In ancient ritual, proud on stage, 

Hooves thunder, mighty horns clash, 

Langsimbruid shows the energetic flash.

From distant valleys, tribes convene, 

In Langsimbruid, a sacred scene, 

Where lineage and pride shine, 

In battles fierce, holding the chilling spine.

For each stride marks a tale untold, 

Of courage, valor, legends bold, 

In Jaintia's hills, this sport endures, 

Langsimbruid, where tradition secures.

So raise the banner, let the drums beat, 

In Langsimbruid, where clans compete, 

For honour, glory, and ancestral pride, 

In timeless bonds that never subside.

Sakewa

 With ‘doko’ and ‘namlo’ a culture deep, 

Kirati life, not so cheap. 

Grounded in nature, with hearts clear, 

Sakewa's rhythm, a festive to cheer

Ubhauli's promise, a fertile land

Sowing done with dexterous hand. 

In walk up the hill, a melody heard, 

Of a beautiful golden robin bird.

Udhauli's gives a plenty  harvest, 

Yuma’s blessings and his grace. 

A kirati stand solid and tall. 

They stand proud and never fall

From their culture and rural life creed,

The most lovely people of Himalayan breed.

              ~Krishna Acharya

Lonely Retiree

A life well-lived, yet now feels overthrown with memories deep,

He gave his all, but now he's left to weep.

From dawn to dusk, he labored, gave his best, Sacrificing dreams for family’s behest. His children, now successful, far away, In foreign lands, their lives in bright array.

His wife, a constant partner in the past, Now with their kids, her presence did not last. A house once filled with laughter, now a shell, His heart, once full, now echoes like a bell.

He looks back on the years with quiet sighs, The moments missed, the tears within his eyes. He wonders, did his love go all in vain? A lifetime spent, now met with silent pain.

High blood pressure and ailments of the old, A body tired, a spirit growing cold. Yet in his heart, a flicker of a dream, That life could be more balanced than it seems.

He yearns for calls, a touch, a warm embrace, But days go by, he sees no friendly face. The sacrifice he made, the love he gave, Seem distant now, like waves upon the grave.

Yet hope remains, a spark within the night, For men like him, still searching for the light. To love themselves, to find a way to cope, To build a life that’s filled with more than hope.

So here’s to men who gave their all away, May they find peace and joy along the way. To cherish self, to live, to truly see, Their worth, their love, their legacy.

~Krishna Acharya

Northeast's Gateway- Coronation Bridge

Across the Teesta's rushing tide,

Coronation Bridge, in steel does confide.

A king's decree, a bygone age,

Yet, purpose strong, upon this stage.

Truss and arch, a structure grand,

Defying currents, on shifting sand.

A marvel wrought, in years of yore,

Connecting lands, forevermore.

From Darjeeling's slopes, to Kalimpong's green,

A vital thread, a vibrant scene.

Northeast's gateway, to the nation wide,

On National Highway, with steady stride.

Below, the river, whispers heard,

Unheard stories in old man's word.

A fleeting glimpse, for travelers' eyes,

A scenic canvas, painted in the skies.

More than steel, a symbol stands,

Of human will, on shifting sands.

Through floods and quakes, it holds its ground,

A testament to progress, all around.

So let the Coronation Bridge remain,

A silent witness, to sun and rain.

A mark of history, etched in time,

A bridge of steel, with purpose sublime.