Meyitir Imsong
Dimapur
Long ago in hills and mountains afar,
Nomads and tribes, searching for a place to call home, followed a star.
Some say they came through the walls of the North, some say the rivers of the South East.
Yet all would settle where the sun rose—in the North East.
A group of people with holes in their ears,
a group of people together with nothing to fear.
A name they did not give themselves, but one they came to claim:
Naga, the name under which they would later unite and proclaim.
Naga, a broad term, but each tribe had their own path, their own way.
Tribes, villages, clans, lineages—together they were, yet further they would stray.
Differences within seemed greater than differences afar.
Villages were republics, had chiefs and councils, but no tsar.
Though society was patriarchal, institutions worked, and unity within was strong.
But soon resources grew scarce, so it didn’t last long
for groups to leave their villages to form their own.
With this they grew further apart, changes in their speech, their culture and their art.
The sun set; with evening, the skies grew dark—the seeds were sown
for songs of unity to devolve to battle-prone chants of war.
Tribes, villages, clans, lineages—once calling for unity—now lead to the paths of division.
Soon villages came into collision.
This fight for land and resources would soon close doors.
Once a sight of love, now a sight to abhor.
They asked the question: how they could end this war?
Questioning what they had in store.
Identity—a double-edged sword, which once united, now divided.
Such was the case for generations, until they heard the voice of the Father, which once again united and guided.
It seemed all the tribes were tired—tired of fighting, tired of war, fatigued with anger, exhausted with fear—
of their own family, their own friends, of the very people they once held near and dear.
Remnants in the mind, scars in the body, wounds in the soul, cries of the heart.
They wished to speak, they wished to express, but couldn’t find the word, not knowing where to start.
Then the Word of the Lord—the Logos—came to them.
His voice lifted them from agony, from despair,
They declared His name with songs and prayers—the Word came to save them through the Son.
And so, through Christianity, the war had ended and their life once again begun.
It blessed them, helped them find the Word—what they wanted to say, what they wished to confess.
They found the Word for so long they wished to express.
The Word granted them the answer to their long desired quest.
Right when they needed Him the most, right when they were put to the test.
The Word, like poetry, engulfed and engrossed—
the power of the Holy Ghost.
And the Word spread, it spread like fire—lighting one soul after another.
With one soul lit, it shone before others.
Reflecting the power in Glory, transforming once enemies into brothers.
The Light of the World stepped down into darkness,
Opened their eyes and helped them see
Freeing them from the devil’s tricks and delusion
Breaking the illusion through peace and inclusion.
The poem is based on the World Poetry Day Theme- Poetry as a Bridge for Unity and Inclusion – Author
