Over the
misty hills of Joupi and far away;
Into the
lush wilds of Gelnel-Janglenphai terror sway.
Doom
knocks door to door; chickencoop to pigsty.
'Nagalim for Christ' was never one's ally.
Devil in
NSCN-IM clothing clamped upon 'em 'Quit Notice'.
Plundered
their farm-produce, torched their home-stead as they so pleases.
Tense
dark clouds hovering the murky skyline;
As
hapless hermits gawked, choking in agony.
Despair
blooms in never ending treading line;
As they
flee, knowing not where, but to safety.
Weary and
teary, trudging along the winding treacherous path.
Pebbles
underneath their bare-feet couldn't prick the already half-death.
Sultry
roving sun shut its oft piercing eyes.
Frozen at
the ghastly sight.
Fountains
of blood sprinkles, no bar, haywire.
Like
plantains their bodies slashed,
And as
gourd their tied limbs sliced.
Their
heads chopped and in to the water deep, plonked.
As
despised as kitchen trash, disposed.
Infants
tossed in the air;
No loving
hands to catch 'em.
Upon
protruding spikes and machetes they land.
On
September 13, 1993 alone 104 Kuki civilians butchered;
Three
hostages survived with wounds utterly ugly.
A
woebegone memento they couldn't simply stash away;
Memories
of the deceased stings now like a disease.
O! Sons
of the soil; ye, daughters of the land!
Song of
thy toil no more sung;
Thine
merry-making no longer heard.
Born a
Kuki, Die a Kuki; we'll always sing.
