Hopping across the brooks running down the Patkai
Pestering Bhaiti reaping his paddy,
Running aimlessly chasing the dragonflies.
The mist on the tea-leaves
Bhaiti’s bamboo shoot rice,
The pretty niece
Well include the first kiss!
My weird accent ,
Taunts at school
They were just plain ignorant..
I was no immigrant.
The cold eyes of Bhaiti,the gun slung across,
Surely its not me they want to oust?
The ouster,the heartache,
The last of the quiet woods
A decade of wandering
The cities,the bruises,the closed half-cabin.
The loner nursing his whisky
And the pangs of nostalgia seep in.
A need for belonging and homecoming!
The only place I could call home
To one day go back to a peaceful Ahom.
But the taunts,the cold eyes,
You never were one of her own!
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