A warrior not mounted on a steed

Laishram Malemnganba Meitei

Not I, who wears the skin of animals.
Not I, who holds a sword in the right hand
And a spear in the left.
Not I, who fastens a red belt at the waist,
Nor I, who tightens the battle headdress.
Even though, a warrior am I—

Of me,
Of myself,
Of this life,
Of this birth.
Like the flow of a river that never returns, so am I—
Of this soul.

As impurities are unseen at the beginning of a pure stream,
And at the time of birth, negativity is nonexistent,
When the flow of the stream encounters a powerful current

Is it the fault of the pure stream?
Is it to be blamed as ‘negligent’?
To the one who loses their path and seeks shade,

When sudden rain chases them,
Is it all their fault?
Should that be called negligent?
I am the warrior of my life’s path,

A warrior who moves continuously forward like the flow of a stream.
When dried trees don’t receive care from humans, as they seek nature’s rain,

Here am I, waiting still today.
The only one of mine,
Truly my own,
A light,
A power,
A magic,
A quality