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Rah u khynroo Vancouver yei naam Wingword Poetry Prize

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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.

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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