My Lyrical Journey of Soulful Rhymes

  Upon this dawn, the distant city rings,   With fire and flag and marches in their wake.   But here, in Pherzawl, where gentle silence clings, A meager march past stirs the thirstless lake. Some children march, their uniforms askew, Before the Deputy and the Superintendent, and their fleeting train, Officers, tourists for a day or two, Who vanish post-lunch, leaving dusk again. For though we're labeled as the district's heart, No badge or file will slumber here tonight. Their polished shoes depart as guests depart; By evening, all is shadow, none in sight. Independence lives, not in grand parade, But in the quiet soil, and hopes unswayed.

A Sonnet from Taithu, Pherzawl District "Aw Kan Tlângram Mawi" - fairest on high, Where mists like veils kiss hills in morning grace; Thy ridges rise 'neath heaven’s tender sky, In thee, each stone and root finds sacred place. Though others name Taithu with jested air, And speak of "odour" with unwitting tongue; To us she breathes sweet life - beyond compare, Where crops grow bold, and songs are ever sung. Her breeze is laden not with rot, but peace, With scents of hearth, and gardens richly fed. The pumpkin ripens, tender shoots increase, And yams dream deep beneath their earthen bed. O homeland dear, in thee our hearts find rest; In thy embrace, we live, we love, we're blessed. © 02-08-2025 Pastor Emmanuel Serto