“Hoihnu Hauzel’s book of poems is an elegy for her lost home and homeland. It almost feels blasphemous to talk of the beauty of the poems, when that beauty has been born out of the depths of human pain. Here are words written with tears, even though tears make poor ink. Read them reverently. Give them the honour that is due to those who have suffered so much more than we have. Hoihnu vowed to herself, ‘Part of me died that night. / I could no longer look away. / I knew I must rise, / that I would be their voice, / loud, unshaken. // Their undying echo / when the world tries / to erase them.’ And she has, she has. Powerfully and indelibly.”
Easterine Kire

“Hauzel’s poetry of hiraeth might well make you misty-eyed. Each poem brims with a sense of loss for a home once possessed, but now no more. Here is no mere sentimental nostalgia, but “a great and cruel” hurt that makes a mockery of the old proverb ‘Time soothes all longing’. Anthropomorphic, even pantheistic, Hauzel’s debut collection reconstructs the poet’s lost home from memories of gates, fruit trees, flowers, birds, photos, kitchen gatherings, trampolines, libraries, garages, and all the little things that make life spiritually complete. The result is an elegiac stream coursing through quiet and sometimes unutterable pathos, the horror of burnt homes and mass displacement, and finally, the cathartic relief of poetry. These poems do not rant about the gory violence perpetrated against an entire generation of people. Nevertheless, in their Darwishian lament and quiet resistance, they will never let us forget the awfulness of human cruelty.”
Kynpham Sing Nongkynrih