The Flying Soul — Apaiba Thawai
One day, beneath the Keishampat bridge,
Where cows and filth and garbage ridge,
Among scraps that rose near to the chin,
I saw a woman, wrapped all in skin.
Her whole form was covered, save her face
A pale expression lost in place.
A few loose strands of scattered hair,
And misery drawn everywhere.
She raised her arms, frail and slow,
And called to me with a ghostly glow.
But I turned my gaze, I looked away.
She had been waiting there all day.
No, not just today—she waited long,
She’d waited for me all along.
And then she asked, “Do you even know
Where you are going, where you go?”
And on that bridge, the traffic roared:
Buses, rickshaws, trucks that soared,
People brushed past, with dust in flight,
The wind pulled shadows into light.
And me—my soul a shredded kite,
No string to guide, no will to fight.
No one cared where I would stray,
I melted into time’s decay.
Another day,
It was after the four o’clock show.
Crowds surged forward in gentle flow.
A sea of faces, smiles galore,
And then I saw her once more
Amid the GM Hall's ruined sprawl,
Waist-deep in trash, barely seen at all.
She gasped for breath, but even then
She found her voice and asked again:
“How do you see this life today?
Do you still smile, or drift away?
Tell me—when did you last laugh true?”
But music from the loudspeaker flew
From Imphal Talkies, reels would spin,
And pulled me from the truth within.
Her questions faded in the tide
Of faces pressing from every side.
And then one evening, dim and slow,
Inside Hotel Umesh, down below
Where gossips gather, smoke clouds swell,
A grimy, jammed, and half-lit cell.
There I saw her once again,
A ghost of colour, sketched in pain.
A painter’s hues that never blend,
Her naked body, end to end.
The seasonal breeze stole her only dress,
And still she stood in that broken mess.
She said, “Your life is split apart,
Do these fragments feed your heart?”
Then with the steam from a cup of tea,
She faded into memory.
The morning radio soon came on,
And just like that—her voice was gone.
Another day, in Paona’s glare,
My favourite bar, my favourite chair.
A peg of zou, the largest one
By then my senses had begun
To drift like leaves in a rising stream,
The world around a blurred daydream.
No home, no map, no tethered shore
I floated, rootless, evermore.
And there she was, her cracked old face,
With butterflies feeding in disgrace,
Feeding from wounds that no one sees,
With broken hands, she beckoned me.
“So you’ve reached here—your journey done?
Now tell me, answer, everyone!”
But I was lost, still searching skies
A winged soul, too wild, too wise.
My engine dry, the questions burned
But answers never quite returned.
And one day more, before too long,
In a murky room where right feels wrong
In Khoyathong, where shadows play,
With a lovely girl who sells the day.
Beneath her petticoat I lay,
Snatching joy before it slipped away.
But there again—my ghost appeared,
On her swollen thighs, bruised and smeared.
Flies buzzed around her bloated skin,
Blood caked the place where joy had been.
And she, in moans and fragments said:
“You’ve reached so far, but where you head?
Give me the answer. Give it now.
You’ve come this far—so show me how.”
The boiling blood, the kick, the sting:
Unleashed, unchained, I felt the thing.
And as I closed my swimming eyes,
The ghost dissolved, the question died.
I had no answer, none remained
Just a drifting soul, forever chained.
The questions sank beneath the tide.
And so did I. I did not fight.
Life just floated out of sight.
Note:
It is footnoted in the book Apaiba Thawai that this narrative poem was written on 21 April 1968 📓 Thangjam Ibopishak’s poems on this blog
Eigi Marup Mister Bush | My Buddy, Mr Bush
Khoodoom Chanba | Control
Mee Tangkhaigi Leibaak | In the Land of Half-People
Eini Siriba Nipa Ase | I’m the Dead Man
Bharatki Nongmei Maruda Sijage | I Want to be Killed by an Indian Bullet
Letter Box | Letter Box
Hayingkhongyambi | Of the Housefly
Angang-gi Eesei | The Children’s Song
Bhootki Leibak | The Land of Ghost
Apaiba Thawai | The Flying Soul
Mang Lallonba Amasoong Kabi | The Poet & the Merchant of Dreams
Mee Tangkhaigi Leibaak | In the Land of Half-People
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