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Akham Nilabirdhwaja Singh Poem
On that rainy night
Near her home,
At the distance,
A lone electric lamp shone;
Raindrops dribbling ,seen
Flickering in its light.
She might have been sleeping then.
I was driving my car
In the rain
towards my distant home
in the city.
Copyright © Akham Nilabirdhwaja Singh | Year Posted 2017
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Akham Nilabirdhwaja Singh Poem
Recently in my dream
a wild pigeon flew inside my house
landed on the corridor and
turning into a baby
came toddling to me.
I lifted him,held in my arms
and loitered here and there.
I asked , “Dear,
when will you turn again into a bird ? “
But before listening his reply
I woke up from sleep.
It was five morning ,
chirping of the birds heard
three wild pigeons walking
on the courtyard .
I have some fruit trees growing
at the backward and courtyard
of my house
on which they usually perch.
Copyright © Akham Nilabirdhwaja Singh | Year Posted 2021
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Akham Nilabirdhwaja Singh Poem
My loving dog !
I once felt pain-
while he
standing beside me
with his usual glee,
wondering why fate
decreed he would
be born
as a hound
despite the abundant
divine qualities
within his faithful heart.
Copyright © Akham Nilabirdhwaja Singh | Year Posted 2025
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Akham Nilabirdhwaja Singh Poem
A kitten with a delicate face
tiny,bright,and playful
formed a bond with my little granddaughter .
She blossomed into adulthood
becoming a fair mother
within a short period of months
but died in an accident.
I wondered and felt pain,
'What a stark difference between our lives !'
Her life was short,
and we have a long journey to go.
But in that brief moment
of our shared life , our souls
connected beyond time's divide.
Copyright © Akham Nilabirdhwaja Singh | Year Posted 2025
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Akham Nilabirdhwaja Singh Poem
Third in the Bard's Birthday Poetry Contest
Romantic love unexpressed,
A silent strife,
Held close throughout
A guarded life,
It holds a beauty,
Soft,and deep,
A special charm,
Secrets keep.
Copyright © Akham Nilabirdhwaja Singh | Year Posted 2025
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Akham Nilabirdhwaja Singh Poem
I feel more incomplete
Now than before
and my heart is a cartography
Of interrupted rhythms.
In the echoes of ancestral whispers
I stand fragmented,unfinished.
Lands that once cradled our songs
Now distant unreachable,
My heart beating between
Bitter and sweet landscapes
Dreaming of retracing old paths
But my imagination incomplete.
My hearth's rhythm interrupted.
Copyright © Akham Nilabirdhwaja Singh | Year Posted 2025
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Akham Nilabirdhwaja Singh Poem
The village where my father was born.
After many years
Still has not changed
Except that electricity has arrived ,
The road blacktopped has deteriorated,
And thatched-roof houses are hardly seen.
Yet what I wonder is
As I saw in my childhood long ago,
The village road today is still lonesome,
Cactus and wild bush plants ,in that quietness
Are still growing here and there by the roadside.
And the sprawling paddy fields are as calm
And beautiful as they were seen from the road long ago.
The aged banyan tree standing in the meadow
At the roadside is still in its grandeur.
Under it, I saw my grandfather cremated,
Consigned to flames
When I was a boy of about 10 years old.
My grandfather during his youthful days
Sometimes might have been resting
Under that banyan tree
Tired of wayfaring or working in the paddy field.
Sometimes he might have been waiting
For somebody he loved beneath it
Wearing kurta ,dhoti,and clogs .
My father died six years ago
And I today am an old man
Yet whenever I visited the village
And see the lonely old banyan tree
I remember the days I spent there during my childhood
Particularly the day my grandfather died
And cremated beneath it.
The old peepal tree ,
Growing at the gate of my residence
By the busy road ,
Often I collect its fallen leaves with a broom
In the winter mornings and burn them.
Yet never ponder about its long past.
12th August 2012
Copyright © Akham Nilabirdhwaja Singh | Year Posted 2018
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Akham Nilabirdhwaja Singh Poem
Fourth in the Mother's Day Poetry Contest
The woman married at a young age
to the eldest son of a farmer-
my maternal uncle and neighbor.
Usually, she woke up early at the crow's caw
and swept the dirt floor of the house with a broom
often wiping it with water and a nura ( wet cloth )
After that she took a bath, changed her clothes
and wiped with water the surface before the holy Basil(Tulsi)
in the middle of the courtyard
as well as the surfaces at the portico and inside the house
where the family Deities traditionally reside.
After these tasks, she prayed the Deities and holy Basil
while burning mekruk(,an incense).
The prayer was once again repeated at dusk
lighting a lantern or candle.
As a routine she grinding,hand-pounding
and flapping paddy,(sometimes cutting firewood)
alone or with a sister- in -law,
cooking food( burning firewood) and serving the family members,
cleaning the kitchen and utensils after the food served.
After these she washed clothes for the family members.
And in the afternoon she wove clothes
at the fly scuttle loom in the outhouse.
Besides, she helped the neighbours in times of need.
She treated her father-in-law and mother-in-law with devotion,
regarded her husband's younger siblings
as if they were her own children.
Many children were born to her
but, she died prematurely at the age of seventy.
After her death I sometimes remember her
as one of the symbols of traditional housewives
of the old past .
.
Copyright © Akham Nilabirdhwaja Singh | Year Posted 2019
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Akham Nilabirdhwaja Singh Poem
One calm evening,
on a leisure drive with my wife
along the Inphal-Dimapur
National Highway,
I remembered
my overnight road journeys
to Guwahati for office work,
sometimes together with her,
before my retirement a decade ago.
Tedious journeys,
winding through the hilly roads
of Manipur and Nagaland ,
yet enjoying the beautiful scenary.,
Intermittent short stops,
taking tea and snack at roadside stalls,
passing through the busy marketplaces
in Dimapur and Assam.
Songs from Hindi films,
heard inside the bus
and at the marketplaces .
A longer halt at Jakhalaabandha,
where all took rest and food,
then arrival at Paltan Bazaar
in the morning,
searching for a hotel.
We decided once again
to go to Guwahati
when the covid pandemic was over
boarding a night super
to recreate once our past journeys.
Back home, our little grandson waiting
for me to play with him.
I remembered then,
as the days,months,and years pass,
there will be no true repeats in life.
Copyright © Akham Nilabirdhwaja Singh | Year Posted 2021
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Akham Nilabirdhwaja Singh Poem
An elderly man I knew ,
( who had no issue)
about fifty years ago
was well known among the local
and neighbouring residents
for his knowledge of the native pantheon,
evil spirits, and ghosts .
Often he conducted rituals
to ward off the ghosts and evil spirits
from the homes and
individuals possessed by them
and to cure people of the illnesses
primarily attributed to sacrilege.
One day, his wife fell ill;
yet, he did not call doctors,
but performed traditional rituals,,
sought guidance from the deities
in his somber dreams.
Of no avail ,
she died after prolonged illness.
But he did not grieve for long.
"What can we the humans do
if God already destined her fate ? “
he asked.
The old man lived a long life,
cared for by a close relative.
He never consulted a doctor
nor took pharmaceutical drugs,
as he did not have faith
in their medical efficacy or sanctity.
(The poem dramatised under the title FAITH, PAIN( Latter rechristened as Thajabagi Cheina) by People's Arts and Dramatic Association ,and directed by Laishram Randhoni Devi was the Second Best play in the Creative Directors' Short Play Competition 2022 organised by THEATER CENTER under the aegis of SANGEET NATAK ACADEMY,NEW DELHI.In all the play won seven different awards.Among the notable awards are Best,Director,Best Actor,Best Actress and Best Script etc.)
Copyright © Akham Nilabirdhwaja Singh | Year Posted 2018
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