More Poems by Somte Ralte

Random Spring Musings

 No one dies before their time.

Though the living rant on -
"Gone too soon,"

No leaf falls before its time
Nor flower, before its due.

And I was wrong 
- to think
that the rains would bring back
The passing spring blossoms;

For all that remains,
After the showers
Are bare branches trailing off
Towards the ever changing sky.

I look at us and I see
Spring is one adventurous season,

For who knew, a year ago,
That we'd be as happy
As we are, together

But who knows
A year later,
Where we'd be
As these spring blossoms fall to the ground.

This Rain

"The rain is long overdue," they say,

Its gentle drizzle speaks of its latent arrival;
For long has our sky been impregnated with rain clouds
That have decided not to fall too soon.

Waiting seemed like forever,
And the first rain was welcomed with earth-lovers
Standing outside the comfort of their homes
Watching the rain splatter on the parched ground,
The smell of the first rain hanging above the earth.

I do not know what this rain will bring,
Though flowers are fallen and dust washed off the leaves of the trees,
I do not know what this rain will bring.

I do not know if I was waiting for the arrival of this rain,
And as I lie awake, listening to the sound of the pouring rain
I don't know what I'm waiting for,
I don't know what I'm hoping for.

The rain will run its course
And once the clouds are emptied of their bowels,
The rain will stop
And the earth shall devour the waters,
The leaves will glisten at the first rays of dawn.

I know nature will run its course:
The trees will bloom
And our lives will go on;
I know time will pass by before I know it:
Seconds will turn to minutes
Minutes will turn to hours
Hours will turn to days
Days will turn to weeks
Weeks will turn to months
And months will turn to years.

Still, I do not know what this rain will bring
And I do not know what I'm waiting for.

If I say I'm waiting for you
I also know that I'm waiting
For the aches that only you can bring;
And if I say I'm waiting for you,
I know disappointment is right around the corner
Waiting to grapple me,
With all the persons that I would have to fall in love with
And I know I'm not capable
Of loving everybody that you are:

Therefore I do not know what I'm waiting for
And I do not know what this rain will bring.

But I know time will pass, seasons will change,
The city will bloom on in its varied hues and colours.
Someday soon I might call this city "my home."

But God forbid I ever lose my love for my home in the hills
God forbid I ever lose the love of the people I have left behind
Even as I strive to love and reach the hearts of the people that are nearby.

I do not know what I am waiting for,
And I do not know what this summer will bring.

And the rain is gentle,
Perhaps the clouds are emptied of their bowels.
Do they know what they are waiting for?

And I think of you.
Has sleep eluded you
Or are you able to sleep soundly,
Forgetting the day's trouble
Looking forward to tomorrow
When our lives will resume
And responsibilities consume.

Are you listening to the rain too?
You say you love April. And she's here.
But do you know what you're waiting for?
Were you waiting for the rains too?
Were you hoping that the rains would change the heat of summer's thaw,
And cool our earth with fresh air?
Do you know what you're waiting for?
Do you know what this summer will bring?

Perhaps I'll never know what I'm waiting for
But it's okay.
I don't have to know everything.
For sometimes, most times, ignorance is bliss
And not knowing, often, is better than feigning ignorance.

Perhaps,
When the morning comes, the rain will have stopped;
Perhaps,
The earth will have swallowed the waters;
Perhaps,
I will walk on dry ground;
Perhaps,
Tomorrow I might wake,
Knowing what I've been waiting for.

On Growing Old

Growing old puts many things into perspective,
Though not all become wiser with age.

What younger fellows fail to understand,
Smirking at honest revelation of our age

The only truth I refrain from telling them
Growing old comes with being alive.

What changes have taken place,
From outward to inward, from showy to comfort
Affected only by the passage of time;
Priorities shifting from one to the other,
Values inherent being internally modified,
Culminate with the addition of our years.

Growing old is no cake-walk,
Forget what they'd said about teen-age:

Storms and stress still prevail,
Following straight into our wasted years,

The only difference being the difference
Of what age could fathom and ignore.

Somte Ralte is no stranger to this blog, having had her poems featured here several times in the past. She is perhaps the most published Mizo poet in English with three collections of poetry, Wild Hearts (2019), A Place in the Sun (2021), Brave (2023, from which these three poems are taken) and another waiting in the wings that is already fully compiled but is being translated into Hindi at the recommendation of her publishers. Somte Ralte does things quietly without fanfare or show, no elaborate book releases, no grand interviews. Instead she keeps her head down and works on her art of poetry like a true artisan. She is at present on the faculty of the Department of English at Mizoram University.