Arunachal- in your green arms, the first dawn stirs,
Opening its eyes to witness
The lush hills whisper honeyed notes to the caressing mists.
The emerald waves of forests fall and rise,
A symphony gets created with the crickets
Impatient to sing their songs unwise.
At Ziro, like green mosaics terraced fields lay,
In Septembers, musicians come: to sing and play.
When they do, are they mesmerized to see
The rhododendrons blaze in crimson hues.
Or, orchids bloom with delicate grace,
Do they fall for the anonymous wildflowers
Holding the soil in a soft embrace?
Do they like to hear the tribes sing ancient songs?
Hear their stories that need to be told!
They must love to breathe the tranquil breath of sacred groves,
And, to feel the spirit of the land that through it roves.
By Dr. Amrita Sarkar
|An Ode To Arunachal
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