He wandered the silver night,
A dreamer chasing flame,
With stars to guide his silent flight,
Yet none would call his name.
He met the maidens, young and fair,
Their laughter soft as rain,
But when he touched their golden hair,
He only felt the strain.
Their eyes were bright, their words were sweet,
Their songs would fill the air,
But always when his soul would meet,
He found no solace there.
From town to town, from shore to shore,
He searched both high and low,
But though he knocked on every door,
Love would not bid him go.
Each maiden left a gentle trace,
A lesson, or a tune,
He learned of hope, he learned of grace,
Beneath the bitter moon.
And slowly, hope began to fade,
His longing grew less wild,
He wore the peace that time had made—
The calm of sorrow’s child.
Then through the dusk, she came one day,
Not wrapped in silken light,
No tale or prophecy gave way,
Just truth, both fierce and right.
She was no girl of painted gleam,
No song the bards would weave,
But in her eyes, he saw a dream
He never wished to leave.
They met, they touched, and something stirred,
A silence broke inside.
No hollow echo, no lost word—
At last, the tide had died.
But love, alas, is not always kind,
Nor meant for all to keep,
She vanished, left no trace behind,
And left him there to weep.
He does not roam, he does not cry,
He sings no more of fate.
He kissed the stars and touched the sky—
And learned it came too late.
Now by the fire, he speaks no vow,
No tale he’ll ever tell.
He searched, he loved, he lost—and now,
He knows that all is well.
A dreamer chasing flame,
With stars to guide his silent flight,
Yet none would call his name.
He met the maidens, young and fair,
Their laughter soft as rain,
But when he touched their golden hair,
He only felt the strain.
Their eyes were bright, their words were sweet,
Their songs would fill the air,
But always when his soul would meet,
He found no solace there.
From town to town, from shore to shore,
He searched both high and low,
But though he knocked on every door,
Love would not bid him go.
Each maiden left a gentle trace,
A lesson, or a tune,
He learned of hope, he learned of grace,
Beneath the bitter moon.
And slowly, hope began to fade,
His longing grew less wild,
He wore the peace that time had made—
The calm of sorrow’s child.
Then through the dusk, she came one day,
Not wrapped in silken light,
No tale or prophecy gave way,
Just truth, both fierce and right.
She was no girl of painted gleam,
No song the bards would weave,
But in her eyes, he saw a dream
He never wished to leave.
They met, they touched, and something stirred,
A silence broke inside.
No hollow echo, no lost word—
At last, the tide had died.
But love, alas, is not always kind,
Nor meant for all to keep,
She vanished, left no trace behind,
And left him there to weep.
He does not roam, he does not cry,
He sings no more of fate.
He kissed the stars and touched the sky—
And learned it came too late.
Now by the fire, he speaks no vow,
No tale he’ll ever tell.
He searched, he loved, he lost—and now,
He knows that all is well.
(Ballad kher hi chu ka la phuah miah lo. Ballad chu hmangaihna, tragedy, adventure lam hawi thawnthu sei, tlar 4 zela phuah, rhyme leh metre fel tak neia phuah a ni.
He Ballad hi a taka tlangval pakhat hmangaihna khawvel chanchin puanchhuahna a ni e)
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