PLAY OF THE ABSURD

Sisyphus eternally rolls his rock
to the mountain top from which
it eternally rolls down again.

Out of the ruins of a fallen revolution
Putin redeemed ancient glories.
He launched his fleet of scrap-metal
battleships into the Barents Sea
and hundreds of scapegoat archetypes
sank to the sea-bed, cocooned
in a derelict submarine tomb.

Somewhere in a forgotten little corner of the world
a hill tribe of one million, fearful of its extinction,
waged an arms insurrection against a nation
of one billion. Their motto:
“To dream the impossible dream,
to fight the unbeatable foe,
to bear with unbearable sorrow,
to run where the brave dare not go . . . ”

Old Powder Keg, Chief Minister of the hills
lackey of the plains, ordered a fox hunt.
A band of their rebels and stray students
were immediately shot to shreds.

Bloated with super power pride Putin
wasted days of oxygen to extricate
sailors with “a technology gone mad.” ¹
When the curtain fell and the underwater
stage was littered with corpses, he who had
sneered at the world rehashed cobweb propaganda.
He pointed to British saboteurs and withdrew
behind the old iron wall.

In the forgotten corner, old Powder Keg, glistening
with brand-new chief-ministerial pride simply
fabricated clumsy, homespun lies. The tortured
rebels had risen from near death to challenge
AK-47 khaki men in armoured vans to a bloody duel.
They were armed with midget handguns.


The truth is, a wise man said, “mysterious,
elusive, always to be conquered.”  We have
neither fleet, nor troops nor armoury—
tell us O, valiant ones! What terror
had stalked the dark spaces of your
sunken dungeon? What agony, my compatriots,
had gorged upon your gouged nipples, plucked nails,
lacerated thighs, mutilated organs and pulverized balls?
Lay before us the many-sidedness of your truth.
O, poor deluded youths! May God bless you
with His divine  betel nuts. ²

Camus believed Sisyphus was happy
for the attempt alone had satisfied him.

Perhaps the Russian soldiers, Putin,
the Khasi rebels, old Powder Keg
were all happy.

Perhaps the reputation of the Russian leadership
is lying at the bottom of the Barents Sea. Perhaps
that of our political leeches has been burnt to cinder
at funeral pyres or interred with punctured torsos.
But what of the grief, the outrage, the hatred?

Tombstones shall spread their tentacles
and succeeding generations shall chronicle
another insane history.

KA SAWANGKA KI THAMULA

KA SAWANGKA KI THAMULA

U Sisyphus junom u pyntyllun ia la u mawlong
sha kliar u lum na kaba junom
u tyllun biang sha tbian.

Na ki jingrathai ka saiñ hima ba la pra
u Putin u pynim ia ka burom ki barim.
U pynher la ki jhad thma nar tasam
sha ka duriaw Barents
bad da ki spah ki lang saitpap ki la jyllop
sha tduh ka duriaw, la kumba sop
i’u ñianglong ha ka jingtep sobmarin basarang.

Hangno re ha i kyndong sah khyrdong ba la klet da ka pyrthei
ki riewlum ba shimillian, kiba ma la ka jait ioh duh ei,
ki ieng da ka thma ia ka ri kaba bun shibilian. Ka phawar jong ki:
“Ban phohsniew ia ka phohsniew bym lah ban taner,
ban ia khun ia u nongshun bymlah ban pynliem
ban shah ia ka jynjar ka bymlah ban shah,
ban her shaba ki riewshlur kim shlan ba kin tur…”

U Kek Bakhor tymmen, u kynrad jong ki lum
u jliah tdong jong ki thor, beh myrsiang, u hukum.
Shi kynhun ki kaikhlaw jong ki bad ki samla pule basakma
mar kumta ki la shah siat pathar ha ban da rathai.

Ba u sieb da ka sarong ia ka nam bor bah jong ka ri, u Putin
u pynsep ei da ki sngi ka er khuid, ban khwai
ia ki maji da “ka buit stad ba la lamwir”. 1
Ynda ka pyrda ka la hap noh bad ka rynsan
poh um ka la lyngkien da ki met iap, u uba la ñiewbeiñ
ia ka pyrthei u pynkylla ia ki slokan sop snur thapbawa.
U kdew sha ki nongpynjot sop sop ka Bilat bad u ran
noh ban rieh hadien ka ka kynroh nar jong ka mynnor.

Ha i kyndong sah khyrdong, u Kek Bakhor tymmen, uba phuhmat
da ka kopia myntri rangbah dang thaba, khlem salia  
u thir ban pynthame da ki shukor thaiñ hi. Ki lehnoh b’la pynsajia
ki la khie pat na tmier ka jingiap ban ai reng ia  ki khar riam khaki
ba kieng AK-47, ba thom da ki kali bym lah ban sam ki kuli.
Kine ki lehnoh ki rah da ki tiar siat ki barit ba shu bat ha ki kti.

Ka jingshisha, u briew bastad u ong, “ka baphylla,
ka barieh, barabor kaba da hap ban ialeh ban ioh kner.” ngim don
ki jhad thma, ne ki shipai ne ki tup ne ki man—
iathuh ha ngi O, phi ki riewshlur! Ka jingtriem
aiu kaba la par tuh ha ki kyndong badum jong ka patok bangiew
kaba la ngam noh sha um? Kaei ka jingsajia, ko para ri jong nga,
kaba la phur ha ki soh buiñ b’la khlong, ki tyrsim b’la sloit,
ki lbong b’la tar, ki dohjem b’la ot tukra bad ki sohrait b’la pynpait?
Pynpaw ha ngi ia ka jingshisha babun liang ka jong phi.
O, phi ki bapli ki samla shah ialam bakla! Ai ba U Trai un kyrkhu
ia phi da ki wai-bneng ki jong U.

U Camus u ngeit ba u Sisyphus u la ioh ka jingsuk
namar tang ka jingpyrshang ka la biang ia u ban pynsuk.

Lehse ki shipai duriaw ka Russia, u Putin,
ki kaikhlaw Khasi, u Kek Bakhor tymmen
baroh ruh ki la ioh ka jingsuk jingtngen.

Lehse ka burom jong ki nongialam ka Russia
ka thiah lyngktar ha trai ka duriaw Barents. Lehse
ia ka jong ki thliem saiñ hima ki jong ngi la thang man dpei
ha ki jaka thang ne la tep lang bad ki met ba la pra ba la pei.
Hynrei pat shano ka pangnud, ka ingkhong, ka shun ing tyrkhong?

Ki maw lum jingtep kin pynpur ia ki thied dieng jong ki
ban ki pateng ki ban wan kin sa buh jingkynmaw
sa ia kawei pat ka juk bakhleh bieit ka hyndai.


27.8.2000