The Keteki at Midnight


I look at the clock, 
it reads 12:21 AM. 
The usual time when I often
just settle down after dinner; 
maybe another hour or two before I finally sleep. 
I dream; 
how do I speak of what I dream? 
I only dream. 
Back home; 
I hear the voices of crickets... 
They seem to speak, 
remind me of the days; 
of strikes and of pickets; 
my childhood passed by, 
a mystery I never could unravel. 
I dream to see a day 
when I hear "TeA Amo", 
in the voices of the children 
of this land; 
not just for TeA, 
but for the land 
which happens to be 
the largest producer of TeA itself. 
The day when they would choose 
"TeA Husbandry" over other branches 
at the Agriculture University, 
when given a choice. 
TeA, with an 'A', 
an 'A', for my very own Assam.
The cobweb and soot 
from the granaries, dusting off; 
Awake; weaving beads of dreams...
into the night; 
I shall await the dawn, 
even across the fifth decade of the century; 
listening on repeat, 
to "Woh Subah Kabhi Toh Aayegi"... 
I dare to dream, 
even when hopes get shaky... 
Past midnight;  
I dare to dream of listening to the song of the Keteki. 
I dare to dream 
that the blend of colours; 
of the Gulmohar, the Xunaaru and the Ejaar... 
will leave for us, 
yet another door ajar... 
Behind which sway the Kohuas, 
and children splash about, 
the damsels dance; 
Bihu... And also, Ballet; 
Salsa, Tango and Twist... 
Where seen is the "Purva Udaya Giri Bhaale", 
from the corner of, My Kashmir of the East... 
The branches of my nights, 
such dreams they yield, 
For, "Shwapn Woh Jo Neend Ura De", 
and thus, my dreams;  
they soar over the 'Rainbow Fields'. 


  • This is so mesmerizing! Loved it…joi aai axom.

    Prajna Pathak
  • simply wow…beautuful…nostalgic…

    Farnaaz Islam
  • This is so beautiful. A poem that could tell a story. A whole story that could be written for pages, but here it is beautifully interwoven in one piece of poem.

    Nivedita Baraily

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