My Lyrical Journey of Soulful Rhymes

  September rain sweeps softly through the Hmar Hills, The same old song I sang in younger days; Like Guns & Roses echoing through chills, Their “November Rain” still haunts my lost highways. These storms recall the music and the ache Of city nights where neon lights would gleam; We chased our dreams and learned which hearts would break, The melody and sorrow now a seam. Yet here, the rain is colder, just as sweet, It finds me far from streets that seemed like home; And every drop remembers each defeat, Yet heals with hymns no singer needs to roam. Let September rain, and let the memories play, Love’s old refrain, where youth and longing stay. © 07-09-2025 Emmanuel Serto

Teachers’ Day comes, but I don’t celebrate; My classrooms silent, ghosts of voices play. At CTS, the little ones would say, “India is my monkey (their way of saying country ) ,” bright and late. AEMS’s children wild with endless spark, Their laughter breaking like a restless tide. To them, monkey’s mischief was a lark, A joke that danced too loud to hide. Now I sit with memory’s ache and light, Missing days when chaos meant pure joy. No cards or songs can touch the quiet night, Where time has stolen every girl and boy. I carry all their wildness in my chest, This Teachers’ Day feels quiet, not the best. © 05-09-2025 Pastor Emmanuel Serto Note: CTS for Children Training School, Nirjuli, Arunachal Pradesh AEMS for Aturkimi English Medium School, Karbi Anglong, Assam