Issue: Vol. IV, No. 4, February-April, 2026
One day at Haflong
The cicadas sing, by night and by noon,
a line of prayer, like a sacred chant.
The sky leans upon the slopes of fern hill, boundless,
and I wander, searching for a city
filled with noise and life—
but it is nowhere to be found.
From one hill to another, winding, winding, flows a living river,
pausing at the borders of Jatinga.
I saw no birds there,
none to take flight with my dreams,
heard no song,
even the wind seemed hushed.
I never asked the name
of the boy who sang the Maibang tune;
among the countless dreams seen in the valleys,
remain there silent and still.
Someday you will come,
and under the shadows of twin hills,
you will write anew—
one faint song
hummed by the living cicadas.
A Poem
The sky or in the wind, wherever the mansion of memories exists
There beside it, somehow an address remains
Every monsoon it gets drenched
The flood water also dries up
The fields become barren and harsh
The eternal argument between Chaitra and Shravana continues
You had said one day
That is life and something more
None have forgotten the vowel signs
When noise becomes tumult,
when the gurgling silence stops
like an unknown friend beside me
Tell me, tell me, O voice of the voiceless,
who abandons you
As life’s fever is increasing day by day
In the same way, Chitralekha memory lovingly
writes monsoon poems of love’s deception
People were actually right,
perhaps only I was wrong
I still don’t see any corner or angle the same
There, steady in height, steady in lowness, an unknown path enters from one side and exits from another – Dhubri
There is no such thing as faith here
I could not understand you, life, for a lifetime.
Translated by the Poet Himself
Premnarayan Nath is an Assamese poet and translator. He has published six collections of poems. Twensangar Gadhuli (2021) is his most recent collection of poems.