After the Curfew, We Open the Windows

Randhir Thiyam
We welcomed you—
newly elected, freshly sworn,
still smelling of ink and promises.
A popular government, they said.
So we chose hope
over habit.

The long night of President’s Rule
finally packed its bags.
Curfews folded like old maps.
Arguments dimmed, not dead—
just resting behind their teeth.
We agreed, for once,
to stop replaying the wreckage.

Let peace be practical.
Not a slogan on a gate,
but keys returned to hands
that forgot how doors sound when they open.
Let the displaced come home—
not to speeches,
but to roofs, rice, water,
and mornings that don’t flinch.

We ask for a future
that doesn’t walk backward
dragging ghosts by the ankles.
Let harmony be ordinary.
Let happiness stop feeling suspicious.

Make our motherland cool again—
not cold with fear,
but calm like shade after heat,
a place where peace
isn’t announced,
it simply lives.