Your Signature and My Litmus Paper

 

Your Signature and My Litmus Paper

Your signature never proved who you were.

It was my litmus paper that revealed the hidden chemistry of your heart.

A stroke of ink can imitate certainty, but one quiet moment with truth changes every colour.

You signed your name with practiced confidence; I held up silence and watched it turn.

Not every promise survives the test.

Some fade like diluted hope, while a rare few remain unchanged, honest enough to leave no stain.

Between your signature and my litmus paper stood the only witness that never lies—

truth.

Mayanglambam Meerina

Rath Yatra

 

Rath Yatra

When sacred wheels awaken dust to prayer,
The streets become a hymn beneath the sky;
With every chant, the soul lays down its care,
As hope ascends where earthly burdens lie.

Lord Jagannath, with quiet, boundless grace,
Rolls not through roads alone, but through the heart;
His chariot makes every soul a place
Where love and faith are never far apart.

The ropes we hold are woven out of trust,
They bind no hands, but set the spirit free;
From fleeting days to everlasting dust,
He draws us toward divine eternity.

O blessed path where mortal footsteps start—
The Lord's great journey ends in every heart.

Mayanglambam Meerina

The Empty Chairs Led by Those Magnificent Minds

 

The Empty Chairs Led by Those Magnificent Minds

The empty chairs, led by those magnificent minds, remain untouched, their silence more eloquent than applause.

Unheard by the crowds, they linger in quiet indecision, where echoes outweigh certainty, and absence speaks in its own language.

Knowing nothing, yet surrendering to the rhythm, they move in quiet synchrony with the unseen beats of time— as though wisdom begins where certainty ends.

Mayanglambam Meerina 

Know Your Friends and Foes

 Know Your Friends and Foes

By: Mayanglambam Meerina 

Not every smile is born of light, Some hide shadows, out of sight. A hand that greets with gentle grace May wear a carefully crafted face.

In crowded halls where ambitions grow, Not every heart wants you to glow. Some clap the loudest at your rise, Yet envy lingers in their eyes.

A friend is known in silent days, Not in applause or passing praise. They lift your spirit, share your load, And walk beside your winding road.

The wise need not return deceit, Nor answer bitterness with heat. Let truth be strong, let patience lead, For character is wealth indeed.

Speak with kindness, work with care, But guard your dreams; not all will share. For words once spoken freely fly, And often never tell us why.

Know your friends, yet hate no foe; Life has its lessons we must know. For every trial, every scar, Reveals to us who people are.

So walk with courage, calm, and grace, Let honesty become your place. In a world of masks that come and go, Your truest strength is what you show.

The Black Horse and the Dawn Shadow

 The Black Horse and the Dawn Shadow

The black horse and the dawn shadow—

two unanswered questions

galloping across the same horizon.

Amidst the clouds,

she peeps from an unseen place,

not seeking the world,

but wondering whether the world

has ever truly seen her.

She roams without a map,

yet every wandering carries

the burden of an invisible destination.

Perhaps it is not the feet that lose their way,

but the mind that mistakes motion for purpose.

Thoughts trail quietly behind the screen,

where no applause is heard,

where every smile is rehearsed,

and every silence speaks

a language forgotten by the tongue.

Who, then, is the traveller?

The one crossing the earth,

or the one crossing herself?

The Director raises his lens—

not towards the spectacle,

but into the breathing breeze,

for truth has never loved

the brightness of the stage.

He searches where the eye refuses to linger—

among frozen starry snowflakes,

where time pauses

without asking eternity for permission.

There he discovers

that every snowflake is a memory

too delicate to become history;

every star,

a wound that learned to shine.

The black horse does not fear the dawn,

for darkness and light

are merely two garments

worn by the same eternity.

The shadow does not mourn

its disappearance,

because it knows

that absence is another form of presence.

And perhaps life itself

is nothing more

than a cloud searching for its own sky,

a breeze carrying borrowed names,

a traveller pursuing destinations

that were never places,

only awakenings.

For we spend our days

trying to arrive somewhere,

until one quiet dawn

reveals the oldest truth—

that existence

was never asking us to arrive.

It was asking us

to awaken.

- Mayanglambam Meerina Leimarenbi

The Signatures We Exchange

 

Between Two Signatures

I signed your birth certificate
with shaking hands,
and a heart full of prayers.

That day,
you came into the world,
and I left mine behind.

I counted your first breaths,
held your little fingers,
walked behind your tiny steps
until you learned to walk alone.

I wiped your tears,
carried your fears,
kept my dreams aside
to build a sky for yours.

You called me in the darkness
when you were afraid.

I was your shelter,
your first home,
your quiet place of peace.

Then time passed.

Your hands became strong,
your voice became distant,
your world became bigger.

And mine became smaller.

The child who once searched for me
in every crowd
now searches for time
to remember me.

I still wait by the door,
not for your return,
but for the child
you left behind.

One day,
you will sign my death certificate.

But before that day comes,
sit beside me once more.

Let me hear your silence,
let me hold your hand.

Because I gave you my beginning…

And all I ask
is that you remember
I was once
your whole world.

Mayanglambam Meerina Leimarenbi

The Healer Who Didn’t Sleep

 

In the narrow corridor of a fading rural night,
he waits where silence and suffering collide.
A single bulb swings like a tired thought,
and every knock on the door is another life brought.

No marble hall, no polished name,
just broken bodies and unspoken shame.
He reads pain not in words, but in breath—
in the pause between living and near-death.

A fevered child on a woven cot,
a farmer who lost the only crop he got,
a mother counting coins instead of hope,
a man trying to learn how wounds can cope.

He does not ask who deserves to live,
he only asks what more he can give.
Sleep is a rumor he never keeps,
for the night itself also comes to him weeping.

And when the dawn forgets to arrive on time,
he is still there, crossing every line
between exhaustion and duty’s call—
holding together what refuses to fall.

By :Mayanglambam Meerina Leimarenbi