It is this same dust that found its way to Nini Lungalang, an extraordinary Naga poet who wrote Dust, a poem that delicately and powerfully invokes in 40 sparse lines, the historical and sociological contours of the Naga world.
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It’s my turn at the water point:
The trickle is slower today
Each day, slower,
One day, it may stop;
And my field has withered,
Rusted-dry in the staring sun,
The crevices filling with dust.
Tin buckets clash behind me
And a loud voice roughly bawls
“Don’t fill that bucket full!
Fool – don’t you know you’ll slop?”
—Nini Lungalang
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