Poetry (Dying City)

Nicho Rongchehonpi

Self-Statement: My name is Nicho Rongchehonpi originally from India belonging to the Karbi community. Currently I'm residing in Taiwan for my studies. I have always cherished writing as my hobby and the language that I usually use is my native language karbi and English. My work often explores the realms of imagination and the embrace of nature, drawing from real-life experiences that touch on themes of family, culture, and folklore.

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The Price of Progress

Honking horns, concrete skies,

Sunburnt eyes, no room to hide.

Beggers, wars, and stolen grace,

Money rules, we lose the race.

Taj is lost in toxic haze,

Ganga weeps in plastic’s blaze.

Instagram fake, the earth does die—

Modern life, a bitter lie.

***

The World We Built

We came to the city, bright and bold,

Promised land, where tales are told.

The streets paved with hopes, shining bright,

Yet darkness crept, stealing the light.

We thought we were wise, we thought we were smart,

Building our future, tearing apart

The beauty once ours, the earth, the trees,

In the name of progress, brought to its knees.

We traded green for concrete gray,

Lost in the noise, we drifted away.

The birds no longer sing in the air,

Only echoes of sorrow, despair.

Once we knew the softness of the breeze,

Now we’re choking on the city’s disease.

We built our walls, tall and wide,

But with each brick, our hearts died.

And now, we walk with hollow eyes,

Our souls are lost beneath the skies.

The world we knew has turned to dust,

And we’ve forgotten the art of trust.

The creatures that roamed, now have no place,

We, too, are lost in this endless race.

Homeless, hungry, and tired we stand,

A once proud world slipping through our hands.

Cities crumble, but not from stone,

But from the greed we’ve always known.

The sky turns gray, the oceans weep,

The promises we made, we couldn’t keep.

The truth is here, it’s clear, it’s near,

The end of days, we all should fear.

But deep inside, a wish does grow—

For the end to come, for peace to flow.

We’ve burned our bridges, poisoned the air,

The world once beautiful, now laid bare.

And I wonder if we see too late,

The consequences of this fate.

Do you agree, in the quiet night,

That we have lost the will to fight?

The world we knew, so full, so bright,

Now fades away, beyond our sight.

***

The horror of a city rise

Once we ran through roads so wide,

Where the earth and skies were open, side by side.

We laughed and played beneath the trees,

Chasing butterflies with a summer breeze.

Our bikes, no brakes, flew down the lane,

Marbles scattered, no fear, no pain.

The streets were ours, so wild, so free,

The world felt endless, full of glee.

But now the roads are paved and tight,

With cars and honks that steal the light.

The trees are gone, replaced by stone,

The sun can’t shine through towers grown.

The river once full of life and gleam,

Now dries up in the city’s scream.

No fish, no stones, no quiet flow,

Just the rush of time that doesn’t slow.

The playground’s gone, the laughter too,

Replaced by noise, a constant hue.

We long for peace, a gentle air,

But all we breathe is city’s glare.

The butterflies are lost, the birds fly far,

The zoo is where we see them, behind a bar.

The world once bright, now dark and cold,

A city’s horror, bought and sold.

The horror rises, it will not cease,

A world transformed, robbed of peace.

The city calls, but in its might,

We’ve lost the day, and gained the night.

***

 

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Special Edition: The Dying City :: Setu, November 2024