Morung Photo by Vishü Rita Krocha
Easterine Kire
The earth waited,
longing for the touch
of hands that served
in faraway places; in cities
that don't recognize
their names nor the sweat
of their brows on a scorching
Summer day; and
for years and years
nothing had grown
in these fertile lands,
they just waited
under the open skies
feeling the rain, the sun
the wind, but not the love
of the hands that had long
grown rich crops
but one day, the world
started falling apart
and all they could do
was return where they belong;
the future was uncertain
but the fields were happy
the farmers have come back home.
This is a poem by Rita Krocha that she wrote in these times of the Corona virus. The accompanying photograph is also by her. I want to appreciate a person who brightens up social media with her sensitive poems and accompanying photographs of good quality. Call me biased but sometimes those are the only reasons to check social media. Hers is such a contribution of positivity during this period of lockdown, fear of the unknown and accusations and counter accusations.
I appreciate the steadfastness of her mind, the purity of it that has not allowed the majority narrative to draw it into criticism of people and situations that are already being criticised and torn to shreds.
It shows just how important it is to own our own minds. To hang on to a sound mind, and not give in to the voices that are shrilly telling us what to believe. The minority narratives have had to rise above the majority voices and they are the voices of appreciation for the officers on duty who are working overtime, and working without complaint, watchmen over the cities and towns in their care. They are the voices recognising the worthy work of the frontline workers, the administrators and the medical staff who risk themselves for the sakes of others. They are voices remembering the parents who are doing home schooling so that their children will not miss out on their education, as well as many more people who are trying to make a life for their families in the face of the virus threat. They are the voices that appreciate the little lights some people burn to dispel this worldwide darkness.
In particular, this person has consistently looked at the bright side of life. Not in a fools’ paradise kind of way, but in her own peaceful way, drawing out peaceful scenes of nature that are all around us, and always with us, even in the darkest nights of the soul. It has shepherded with the gentlest of methods and led readers away from the cliffs of depressing self-destructiveness and social destructiveness. I read her reviews of books and films, her articles and coverage of the present times at home, and appreciate the sense of balance that seeps out and grounds the reader.
This poem restores faith in our land to provide food for her children. It is an abiding faith in the provision of the land the maker gave to us and designed it to yield different plants and vegetables and crops for the inhabitants. What a fortunate people are the Nagas. The fields are rain-fed and sustain grain stalks without any effort, and in time the harvest will provide for the next year. The return of those in far off places to our hills will be met with the promise of provision, not the fear of starvation. Turning our thoughts to the possibilities of our land, is like lighting a lamp in the dark. The poem was made even more beautiful by the photograph of this year’s rice fields being transplanted by seasoned hands. There is such hope for regeneration of the earth and its people in the photograph. When the poet leads the way forward, it profits us to follow willingly forward. Thank you, Rita.
Just know that you are a beacon of light in this twilight world, and we need more like you. Amen.
