Ah! Wat Biah On Sunburst Poem by Lovita Morang

Ah! On sunburst, Wat Biah

When flowers bloom,
on my beloved's street,
Walk on it but do not spit.

What she longed here is
A glass full of clouds
to sip that seeps in
Through the misty taste
of sun that rains here.

Beautiful is she,
even she is beautiful
The flower girl
Who sell flowers
She sold me sunburst
Its drizzled a bit,
bit of sun burst out of cloud crust
Like a luminous bolide, colide brightly in the day sky
And human found a deepest space in sunburst
Immortal hearts succour, endure
Ah! Flowers not only have names
I have sunburst in my garden now
Sunburst has endurance and timeless love
But what lies beneath underneath is Shakespeare's tempest, magic tragic or a comedy the last play to craddle woes of a stranded Miranda in an island of illusion,
Or of skillful manipulation O Ovid's metamorphosis, festive in The masque heroic armour
sharp jolt of defenseless fragrance like triumph of peace lingering, willingness growing
Is its strength rocketed to bloom in new beginning

Each time Sunburst blooms and rhyme to rest
it's unfathomed glance of timeless love
that time and love endured
spilling out indecipherable stares of averted fate
Everything enters my heart,
I understood the mistrust,
In this strangeness of magnificence,
yet we smiled suddenly, must be to fill
The plunges of infinite joy bewildered

So, she gifted me to plant
Endurance and timeless love pursued and gazed at me
in wonder at my flickering faith

As I left, she stood still, waving her hand
As I left i saw from a solemn distance
everything on street, in her just occupied space, her flowers on street, her belongings and the words on the walls "Wat Biah " in big loud inaudible message

She sweeped clean the street because at that point of time,
It's her space to keep the flowers, and sell the flowers in the fair
She knows not how to read, yet she kept it clean the air
She rise! Yet she knows not Maya Angelou's "Still I rise"
The words written "Wat Biah" on the street wall
Yet, not all but few spit and smoked in the bazaar,
and others didn't care whatever

What I saw is Biah,
What they didn't see is Wat.
In the transience departure
Yet it's always Wat Biah fade in out fade out in time,
rain or sunshine on the walls of street, worn and broken down by sunburnt and toughened by both good and bad weather beaten poetry
Like woes creaky woebegone
rusty, crazy, dry-rotted, dingy, dark,
and miserable yet adorable
Guarding the city

Streets I chanced upon, and deeply felt understood, the overwhelming existence and living languages,
The compelling sights and vacillating to and fro visions in cloisters of mankind has hoarded up from age to age
and it's intensity to stirr the passage to struggles,
Jostle in ceaseless moves of buyers and sellers
And visitors like me in jubilation return, in anxious hands carrying sunburst, and promising things, longed long,
Poetry in loveliness in the delicate hands of wandering things in Police Bazaar Shillong.
-Lovita J R Morang