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Jowai: U khynroo Vancouver Shullai uwa dang 21 snem i rta uwa sdang ki bru u tipmit oo na i rwai “U Mawnguid Briew” da pynyoo u sa i sap thoh sur rwai (poetry) yong oo deiwa jop u ya ka yakop Wingword Poetry Prize ka yakop heiwa ki khynroo khyllood ka ri da chimbynta ki.

Deiwa jop u ya kani ka yakop da yoh u leh ya ka song poisa wa T. 1 Lak wei daw pynmih ya ka Poetry yong oo ha ka kot thup rwai.

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Ka Wingword Poetry Prize toh ka yakop wa pynman hapoh ka ri India yow pynchlur ya ki khynroo khyllood kiwa em sap u thoh u tar, ki wym pu yoh laad ka pyrthai u tipmit ya ki yow yoh ki ka laad ha i kyrdan ka ri u sai ya ki Poetry yong ki. Ya kani ka yakop da pynman chisien chi snem deiwa kyrchaan ka Delhi Poetry Slam.

Ha kini ki tayaw wa daw wan u Vancouver Shullai daw li pdiang u ya ka khusnaam yong oo na New Delhi, India.

Kani ha wah toh ka poetry u Vancouver wa jop ya kani ka yakop.

The Wait

I am thirteen years of ignorance,
Five years of mistakes and three years
Of telling myself not to do them again.
I am Khasi with no Khasi name.
Catholic, with no Catholic name.
I am christened with Imagination,
Watered with Precision

And salted with Detail.

It has been exactly one hour
And thirty six minutes
Since I arrived at the airport
And exactly seventeen minutes
Less of that, that I saw a Maruti 800
With dents and scratches and a family.

I wanted to imagine right away.
To create a personal motion picture
For my mind and my mind, alone:

You see,

There was Dada with little Riya
Sitting in the passenger seat next to Rajah ―
Their loyal driver who has a North Indian wife,
Pregnant with their second child.
In the back seat was Anjali, first child
Of Dada, with her son, Ritesh ―
Brother of Riya.

Heading home after a trip to New Delhi
Anjali was only waiting for a hearty lunch.
Riya, just as hungry, was waiting to get away
From her grandfather’s sweaty arms.
Rajah was waiting for a phone call,
While Dada was waiting to rest.
Ritesh was fast asleep to wait for anything.

(It was an affair of waiting.)

Dadi waited at home with a warm pot of rice,
Dal, papad, sabji, Italian pasta
And three buckets of bathing water.

In their Japanese-themed living room
Was Anjali’s beloved Francis, whose erudition
Included a Master’s degree in Psychology
And seven Spanish words, one of which meant window.
He sat and he read a book of a British writer
And waited on his wife and children to return.

The Maruti 800, model 1998, entered the gate ―
The sound of which made Dadi run with joy,
Francis sigh and the papad burn.

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