Whispers of the Emerald Mother

Dr Ranbir Laishram
O my beloved children—
Jewels of this emerald sphere,
I hold you wrapped in verdant silks,
Ancient and ever new,
From mountain mists to valley's sigh,
From every tribe and beating heart,
You are the music of my memory.

Once I danced in peace—
Green fields shimmered with hope,
Rivers whispered lullabies,
Winds carried laughter.
But storms have gathered,
Ravenous and wild:
Hatred, hunger for power,
Greed—these shadows now reign.

Chaos writes its bitter saga:
Each hand clamors for a throne
In my once-untouched sanctuary.
Now, the emerald bleeds,
Infiltrators trace poison trails,
Narcoterror drips venom on youth,
Who drift, lost in the fog—
Tangled by conflict,
Haunted by hollow dreams
Of quick riches,
Where work is but a memory.

Dictators, like iron-clad storms,
Fan the flames
Of heartache and division.
O children, return to grace—
Awaken your ancient wisdom—
Let not a handful of years
Slip through careless fingers.
Your greed, your pride,
Your chase of foreign shadows—
These carve sorrow
On your own hearts.

Yet still, I endure—
The eternal emerald,
A patient mother with unyielding arms.
But will you remain, unchanged,
Or will you vanish like footprints
Washed away by the monsoon?
Pause now, Breathe deep,
And let gentleness guide your hand.