Where Did You Go, Hating My Black Dalit Skin?
You appeared like a moon-flower in 2002,
you shone like moonlight until 2004.
Where did you go from Pondicherry?
For so long, I searched for you among the moon-flowers.
Finally, I found you in Dimapur.
For so long, I waited for you among the moonlights.
You appeared like a moon-flower,
you shone like moonlight.
Where did you go, insulting my Black Dalit skin?

Do you know
you are blooming within your Naga beauty...
my humble Dalit heart lies buried in the warmth of your absence.
I sway like a swing to the rhythm of your presence...
I remain your companion to this day in my every breath.
I breathe your fragrance until today and will be breathing
until my death.

Do you know
I still celebrate your birthday,
the fifth of December every year!
I touched your feet while you were persecuting me!
I smoothed your foot even in that hate crime against my Dalit skin.
India forced me to swallow the iron sun,
you forced me to swallow the iron moon.
There is a distance of thousands of miles between us;
there is a distance of billions of hatreds toward my Black Dalit skin.
When will we reach the shore?
It is an endless plight to reach your Naga skin…
You appeared like a moon-flower,
you shone like moonlight
where did you go, humiliating my Dalit skin?

I bathed in the essence of your hatred.
I held your Naga name within me since 2002.
Back then, my eyes were reflected in yours.
Today, only tears fill my eyes.
Do these tears hold any meaning?
All these sweet dreams
ruled by the law of caste.

You appeared like a star, you shone like moonlight;
Where did you go, hating my Black Dalit skin?
For so long, I searched for you among the moon-flowers.
For so long, I searched for you among the moon-flowers.
For so long, I have been longing for you...
You appeared like a moonflower,
you shone like moonlight
Where did you go, hating my Black Dalit skin?

Seaside Lover
Every day I walk from my hostel
To your quarters, hoping to see your Naga face.
Yet you never come
To see my black face.

Still, I wander around your quarters.
I leave flowers in your bicycle basket.
I know you wipe your bicycle clean
After it has been touched
By my black Dalit skin.

Yet I never stop loving you.
I never stop pouring out my heart,
Even though you cannot bear
The shadow of my Dalit face,
The shadow of my black skin.

Yet I used to give you
Love letters.
I used to invite you
To meet me on the shore of the Bay of Bengal.

But I know; you know,
You would never come
Because I am not the son of a lawmaker
Or a millionaire.

You know I don't have caste tags
At the end of my name.

If I had a tag like

Brahmin,
Kshatriya,
Vaishya,
Shudra,
Skin colour,
Or even Muslim,
You would have come to talk to me.
But I have neither caste nor car.

What you don't realise is
I have a weapon called
Knowledge,
Which none of your Brahmins,
Kshatriyas, Vaishyas, Shudras, or Muslims have.

You have a car and capital;
I have words and verse.

So,

In your absence,
I spoke my love to the sea.
The Bay of Bengal alone knows
How deeply I loved you.

The Bay of Bengal knows
How many times I celebrated
Your birthday
The fifth of December.

In your absence,
I became a seaside lover.

You still fill my heart,
Even though
You reject
My Dalit skin,
My black skin.

Love Letters I Sent You
How many love letters I wrote for you,
Urging you to read Oxford University Press.
How many words I crafted for you,
Dreaming you would write for Oxford University Press.

How deeply I poured out my feelings,
Hoping to see your work
In the pages of Economic and Political Weekly.

How many verses I composed for you,
To nurture your love of reading,
So you might become a Nagalim theorist.

How fully I committed myself
To your Naga cause,
As fully as I committed myself
To a small place in your heart.

What I did not send you
Were my love letters.

Never did I long to touch you.
Never did I long to hug you.
Never did I long to hurt you.

But my caste hurt you.
My black skin hurt you.
My Dalit ghetto hurt you.
My poverty hurt you.
My appearance hurt you.

I never hurt you—only
My caste, my colour, my class, my appearance.

Love Letters I Never Sent You
I never sent you a love letter
Because you are full in my heart.

And your heart is full of power and wealth,
Like any mainland heart and soul.