The Morning Pools of the Sky People: a Modern Day Fairy Tale - Zualteii Poonte

It happens late in the year every year, around the time when the rains taper off and the harvests in the rice fields begin to ripen and glow golden in the sun. From the wee hours past midnight when earth people are in bed in blissful slumber, the fabled van mi or sky people leave their homes in the sky to stealthily descend to earth for a few joyous hours of bathing and swimming. Under the pale light of the moon, between mountains and high hills, they create huge pools of spray and water that is so pure and white it looks like soft, downy cotton wool. The pools cover entire valleys, stretching from one far distance to another, running up the sides of mountains and creating occasional happy little islands in the middle. Some pools sweep across vast expanses like tumultuous, turgid  seas while others are sandwiched between mountains and towns like hungry rivers. In the bewitched pools, the sky people play, float, glide, skim, sail, romp, wade, gambol and frolic around to their heart's content. Sometimes they take gravity-defying dives off cliffs or jump from trees into the surging white waters. 

Then as the sun awakens and unhurriedly rises, lazily stretching out its brilliant rays over the mountain tops, the sky people sigh and begin to gather their things to go back to their homes in the sky. A few dawdlers, reluctant to leave the water, linger on but as the sun gets stronger and the world gets warmer, the waters in the enchanted pools dissipate slowly till there is nothing left but empty air and mist. One by one, the lingerers too return to their homes. The pools remain amidst the mountains and rills for a while as earth people wake up and rub their eyes in marvel at the sight outside. By the time the clocks on the earth people's walls point to eight, the pools have mostly all disappeared. Late risers who are excitedly told about the magical pools thrust their necks out of windows but see nothing but green valleys and hills. 

Zualteii (A. Hmangaihzuali) Poonte is the owner of this blog.  She teaches English literature at Aizawl College and is also a keen amateur photographer. The featured photo, which partly inspired this piece, was taken by her in November 2012.

Dead Butterfly - Dawngi Chawngthu

throw away my memory
throw them into
unknown areas of your mind

unlit
dark
grey… areas

your haloed moments
your sane and conscious moments
will never find you here

your back is turned
your mind is closed
your love is gone

but someday
a quiet and lonely evening
may catch you off guard

taking a stroll
through the wastelands
of your mind

you will find me
sitting in a darkened corner
a dead butterfly in my hand.


Dawngi Chawngthu  recently added a new feather in her cap with several of her poems included in the anthology A Stream of Poetry published by Brian Wrixon Books in Ontario, Canada.

hawi lo par/ in the library - Baruk Feddabonn

there is a darkness in these shelves
rising from the stardust and skin
of other peoples’ memories

our memories are buried
with the ancient dead
and grow as the
hawi-lo-par

flowers of forgetting
or remembering

which?
i don’t recall



*On the way to mithi khua (land of the dead), the Mizo dead went through fields of ‘hawi lo par’ (flowers of not turning back), and drank ‘lung lo tui’ (water of no heartache). They could then pass happily into the afterlife, and no longer pine for those they left behind.


Baruk has a Mizo mother and poetry runs in the family veins like blood does in the rest of us lesser mortals.. He is a part-time librarian, wannabe crafter, drum beater, house-husband and Wing Tsun student. Born in Mizoram and and brought up in Shillong, he now lives in Auckland, New Zealand, and uses http://feddabonn.com as a creative dumping ground.

Chhinlung - Malsawmi Jacob

That’s where I came from: a cave of stone with
jagged edges, its belly dark and dank; joined to
earth’s boiling bowels.

One day, they say, out of this cave
our ancestors emerged; out they marched
in groups, tribe by tribe.

First came the Sailo tribe, with bearing proud
their faces grim, set with intent to reign,
that will no resistance brook.

The Luseis came in sight, their lordly stride
and genial mien a courtly role portend.
Their dialect rules the roost, unites the state.

The Lais appeared a humble lot at first
yet eyes belie a fearless warlike race
who fight to the death and know no flight.

The Hmars have magic in their blood;
to rule or conquer not their aim,
shaman they were to play a priestly part.

At last surfaced the Ralte tribe
with cheery chatter, merry clatter
they filled the cave with jolly din.

The first-come tribe, who claimed superiority,
curled their noses at such frivolity,
decided it must end.

They commanded all the tribes
to shut the cave-mouth and at once!
before more noisy crowds advance.

And so they took a boulder huge
they closed the cave – a heinous deed!
shut their brothers in, denied them daylight.

Last night I heard the wind outside - Zualteii Poonte

Last night I heard the wind outside
struggling to break
free from the trees.
It stretched and pulled at
branches and leaves that
wouldn't let go,
and snarled and howled
for freedom.
This morning, all around me I see
scattered debris
of its profitless fury
vented on twigs and
new-born Mayflowers
trampled and crushed in the rain.

The trees today stand
unmoving and silent
and the wind, like a
beaten adversary,
subdued and stilled
within them.
Perhaps it's at rest
in the roots
of the trees
like the spirits my ancestors
once worshipped.

Zualteii Poonte  is the owner of this blog. She teaches English literature at Aizawl College and is a keen amateur photographer.

Photo: Col. Chris Rego, Dampa Tiger Reserve, Mizoram.