The streets of Imphal are empty by night
enveloped in sullen darkness and quite,
broken intermittently only by glaring lights
of the vehicles that dare to take flight
in such ghostly hour of the night,
where only the gun totting dim wits show their might
without a care of what is wrong or right,
or the intoxicated drunks who show their plight
of their intellect numbed by the fiery fluid,
and there I was squatting on a height
trying to create magic from such a night.
Well that sure does rhyme …… ha ha ha.