THE FUNGUS

Where I live
it is cold and dark inside.

So cold you never know
how warm the day is,
so dark you never know
its hour.

Outside the window peaches have changed
into their wedding gowns again
and the last of the winter oranges
are ripening in the sun.

But outside forms no part of my possession.
The heart that slithers out of its hole
to curl up in its sunshine warmth
must risk being stoned.

That is why I keep like fungus
to this cold and dark interior
and in everything that I do,
it is only the fungus that shows.

KA JINGPHUH TIT

KA JINGPHUH TIT

Hangta ba nga sah
ka long ka bapjah bad badum
kum ha khrum.

Ka pjah katta katta ba phim tip
haduh katno ka sngi ka shit.
Ka dum katta katta ba phim tip
wat ia ka kynta.

Habar jingkhangïit ki sohphareng ki kylla
sha ki riam iathoh basada
bad ki sohthiang bakhatduh ka tlang
ki nang ih ha ka sngi ka baklang.

Hynrei ka shabar kam dei ka spah ka jong nga.
Ka dohnud kaba par na la krem
ban kli kyllaiñ ha mynshem
ka dei ruh ban mad ia ka jingshah lynthem.

Dei da kumta ba kum ka jingphuh tit nga sah
tang hangne ha badum ha bapjah
bad ha baroh ki kam ba nga leh
dei tang ka phuh tit kaba paw eh.