I left Aizawl before Christmas,
but I was fortunate to witness all this… and more.
The city was lit up with colorful lights
as people from each street came together
to make theirs the best looking street in town.
That sense of solidarity in the spirit of the season
was refreshing and inspiring.
so we rode from one street to another
ignoring the chill in the air
and humming along the carol sounds
in this city of amazing christmas lights…
(Photos by my rockstar friend Sharon because I was too in awe to take my eyes off
these amazing lights)
Time doesn’t hang on a wall.
It doesn’t tick by on a wrist.
It’s infinitely more secretive and intimate.
Time, contrary to all notions,
does not flow.
It’s not beautifully fluid,
a murmuring river passing under a bridge.
In our heads, it hastens and halts and stumbles.
On occasion, it dissolves.
It ceases to exist.
Janice Pariat in Seahorse
The solitary backpacker who drifted into our hometown,
winding his way from the northern tip of the country,
down the wild mountains,
across wide rivers and into our sloping streets.
He had coal-dust eyes, and mercilessly darkened skin.
I remember he carried the scent of bonfires,
of nights spent out in the open,
of old wood-bone.
He spoke softly,
hesistant for you to hear what he had to say.
-Janice Pariat in Seahorse