Title: Changki Ola [Echoes of Changki]

Language: Ao

Narrator: Lendiben Ningdangri

State: Nagaland

Changki Ola

Tenemtsùng nung aliba Changki-i kodang ni aru, 

longtem ajaki tenùng belemtet, 

Ali koba ni ajemeta lir, iba nung tsükjang ajaki yashi endang sayu, 

Ni meketa mepong taneb agi tanemi ashi, kodaker olai khen aten, koba ola teti taküm alitsü. 

Ayongi otsü ashir ama, 

tepurjunga yimjen ayim, 

koba nung tsùrabur tsüngsü tanep metet, aser 

tsürabur sarasadem ola mesama. 

Tsürapur inyak sangshi maparen memereki mali, 

Koba nung tera yanga, kodanga aseni endoktsù makok, 

Ali-i ayung tsü ajem ama, asen nükla nung teronem tajung adokdaktsütsü, 

Ku melungsentsü ajangai ashi, “onok yangi lir, aser tanüa onoki mesotsù”.

Ni meketa alirtemi ni mangatetsüsa jembi, 

Par kodaker oshi tanük ni azüitba ajanga

Parnok tiemtem samadok, 

Amatsü makokba sü sentsü tabu ana (temesüng aser anüng sentsü)  mapangka sama, 

Saka ken ajanga aji tanaben abentsüsa bener aru, aser tanü onoki aji meraketa abener.

Anungji ni tementzüng nungi iba oren ya ayimok, 

Changki, na ali nung sangro ama zùlogoni, aji kodanga majentsü, 

Alimai iba oren ola amadokaka, süngjema melitet-tsü, 

Iba kodaker oshi yaki, anogoshia asen taküm lidaktsütsü. 

                                           Lendiben Ningdangri

Echo’s of Changki

 As I step upon the hills of Changki, where every stone remembers a name, 

The earth beneath my soles is a ledger, each grain a line of yesterday’s flame. 

The air around me hums, a choir of whispers soft and free, 

A tongue of angels once sang, now echoes eternally. 

The river, old storyteller, rolls by its glassy face, 

It catches each footprints, each grandparents gentle trace, 

Each ripple a soft spoken prayer, 

Refuses to be washed aside. 

Land ain’t just dirt, it’s the pulse of our ancestors, 

Roots tangled in the mud, holding the dreams we can’t erase, 

The soil drinks the river, smells with memory then sights- 

A heartbeat under my feet that says, “we were here, we’ll rise again”. 

The People around me speak in breath, no words to hear,

Their heavenly language wraps around my ribs, grief turns to fire.

Memory is a shawl of blue and white, torn by time’s cruel snare,

But Songs stitch it back ,we wear it proudly, though patterns blur, we dare.

So I slam these verse into the mountains,hear them echo, 

Changki you’re a poem written on earth, a beat that won’t slow. 

Even if the world forgets the verse,  silence can’t stay, 

This heavenly language will keep us alive each day. 

                                 Lendiben Ningdangri