they call me an Outlaw

I don't know why you been so low
since i came and knock your door
yeah they call me an outlaw
say “i don't seem to know the law”
they say im their foe
“i don't know what i' m looking for”

you been hypnotized by writers and the system
you been socialized with flamboyant intellectuals
you have read books of Cuban revolution
you claim you been for the poor chasing the Sun
you put up posters of Guevara
upon the painted walls of your house of selfishness
you even wore him as your panties
but you don't stand in side your shoes
Behind the veil i see you being confused
but you claim to be as clear as Confucious

“you and i shall be free” we sang
they left me half killed with a bang
and you sipping your coffee in the party hall
singing you are in balls and chains
flirting with captains blowing the smoke

everywhere i go i can see my portrait
upon every walls of my own village
they asked you about the face
you said we been just friends
i remember your poetry

“Give me the Sun
Take away my full moon nights
the starry night makes me wonder
for the next meal and the supper

farmers committing suicide
and too they can't hide
from the taxes and the fights
hungry cries haunt the highway
and me with my notepad far away
from the way
crafting my poetry
a poetry to bring the change
of this night to a dawn with a new Sun
with the new Son of this land

glory days gonna come
shinny sky gonna bend
below you and me
and you and i shall be free forever”

when i'm alone

i been sitting here for so long
wasting time, just staring at the phone
wondering should I call you or not
and i realize you are not alone

your memories shine
your lip sings and smile
when i' m alone
when no songs haunt

you and i lie
you and i fly
you and i die
it's beautiful ly
when i' m alone
sitting alone in the stair
watching your hair
flying in the air.

mail to a fren (part II)

I'm fine happy
shining like evening sky
no worries for future
why should i be worried
when i'm getting my bread free
as long as i have words for my poetry
and lyrics to sing i'm happy
hope you are happy too
good to hear that you are serious about life
yeah but i'm not still
this heart never agrees with reality
and never practical
i am still in my wonderland
with my hands waving free in the air
thanks for mailing me

with love

jotting down everything i dont understand

i woke up
in the silence of morning mist
without any sleep,
i was lost in the deep
of the night

i was left alone facing the wall
as if i was the only drunk in this world
no one pays me for my existence
i look around saw a girl with a fake cake
offer me a peice of it
i know i dont want a shit of it
all i want is to fly high
all i want is to lie down
but no arms
except this old yellow pillow

thousands of readers and critics
hundreds of fighters and lovers
and all the motherfuckers
listen to me reciting my mafking poetry
yeah sometimes about love
sometimes about prostitution
sometimes insomnia
sometimes protesting against everything

the men with armour of gold
tell the story of the acts of god
yeah! they have fans
and golden eggs by costliest hen
yeah! they have sent
me to school to follow them
like another fool to join the chain
but now i twist and turn the road
notice the air is too hot
to breath for my survival
yeah i have, too, no rival
what the fuck am i writing
i dont know

i give up the hope of my own dreams
i try my best but i'm defeated
dreams often remind me im the loser
every night, it haunts me
I can't run and hide
my tongue is tied
the truth i can't speak
the walls are too thick
love dies love lies
broken promises like glasses
cut me into peices
the fingers unknowingly
searching for the right shot
to give me the final cut

hey girl
you left your sweet smile
underneath my pillow

hey girl
you thought i'm numb and blind
but i can figure out your color

hey girl
we belong under the same clouds
if you fly i can fly too

hey girl
your smile like a wall paper
of yellow daffodil asking me to pluck and suck..

dated 19th october 2006


when people learn life is short
when no priests say
his religion is the best
when no beggars beg
and we are same
and not chained
when no soldier exists
to shoot another mother's son
when the freedom shines
to all the nations like the Sun
when no boudaries are drawn
between diamond and rust
when no river poems flow
to the seas of hatred
I will walk down
I will walk down
the road to mother earth

copyright@ronid 2006

a sketch of no man's land (moreh)

never been to America or elsewhere
except to Myanmar

it's the no man's land
adventurous people come and go
looking for sex drugs guns golds and pearls
and for your kind information
the cheapest sex is there
the quickest consequences you will know.

the town with the yellow girls
famous to me for its sugarcane juice
famous for its candles and bangles
famous for years like an old wine
my granpa had before he dined

the thin line of the border
each side with flags of different colors
the BSF standing still watching the chicks
in their uniform and unclean beard
i was told they enjoy watching in and out of the girls

the river by the woods
where they remove their hoods
to wash the sweats and go back home
was where blood used to stream
where the forgotten hero washed the bloody sword

the evening scenes often remind me
the ancient Rome created by Goscinny and Uderzo

the market with the stink of fresh river fish
the people, the air, the monks too
the smell of the burning incense stick
from the Buddhist monastery
like a blue shade upon the vast ocean

the varied pickles of varied fruits
the roasted sunflower seeds with milk
inside the polythene
pictures of the yellow girls
sold by the ladies
chatting away their last night's orgies

the half opened pumpkin in the market
glows in yellow
you can see from the nearby hills
i never made mistake in pointing that out
even if i am colorblind

the monks on the little honda bikes
taking advantage of civilization

the southern sons, in their rolled up mund
the long thick golden chain
contrasting their own hairy dark skins
but goes well with their agressiveness,
biking up and down the pebbled streets
the streets of the ruling corrupt government

the sellers, the buyers shouting
and bargaining over the floral blanket

the roadside furniture shop
decorated with the yellow marigold flowers
for the coming pooja or christmas who cares
they just have to sell away their things

the crazy sun seems low and unkind
disturbing the old woodcutter's wrinkled eye
the windy evening carries the men
around the oval of the hips of the ladies

many tried to knock down the girls
inside the cabin made of wood
but return broke and empty like a gambler
down on their luck
here hundred doors open to become rich
to those born with the silver spoon
..................................akhu fades..............................

mund : south indian lungi
Goscinny and Uderzo: creator of Asterix comic

i'm trying to sketch some scenes of a place called Moreh. it's a hub to small town like imphal economically.
eveything that we use from morning till night comes though this town moreh. it's been a life saver town. it lies in the Indo-Myanmar border. Thank you, Moreh!

evening walk

i had a weird idea to write a poem while walking down the Aundh Road
this road is quite quiet and calm.never believe
it somewhere connects the city. i walked towards Parihar Chowk in search of some
evening snacks, after a while, i walked the reverse direction but by that time my evening snacks turned already into a poetry.

they scrap me on my ass and face
they have a different tongue and face
they said i'm like a garden
rose up from a stinking garbage
i really dont understand the language
was it a sarcasm like those school boys
in this globalised globe on my table.
i was scratching my head just for money
scratching my balls like a monkey
where should i go or listen the bastards?
oh! i dont wanna leave this city
but what this city has given me is shitty
mama's girl with the doll singing lullaby
for the beggars from the long big red car
the passers gaze up wondering why
i dont know why too they look up like
a frog waiting for heaven's urine
i saw lovers
they die for each other
they smile when they die
they never say bye when they leave
as the lady from south inform me
when i was young and poetic
and bit wild and alcoholic

the flying crane's leg hanging
like a bamboo
across the lake with the green hyacinth
the chickens reciting charles dicken's poems
the mother feeding the husband
the armies commiting suicide
the youngsters feeling high
in their faded jeans and jockey shorts
the city lies inside my keyboard
isn't it funny
whatever i see and feel was fake
whatever i wrote is not mine
I steal, rob and snatch from you
dont tell me back what you are
my lovers i love you like my poems
my friend i can sing you hundred songs
i can play and blow thousand tunes
dont tell me I'm garden or garbage
i know it's hard to be what we are.


why the fuck the ducks walk like drunk?
why the fuck i'm too blunt?
why the bucks are so hard to earn?
why the bugs are not still burnt?

i'm screaming out my guts loud
but it is never too loud
wanna run away somwhere down to burma
wanna be a little monk without dharma
smoking lots of kabo bidi
wandering along the indo-myanmar border
whistling "go fuck yourself with your mother
go fuck yourself with your acts
go kill yourself with your bullets"

your civilization sucks
your mother is hurt
i'm happy with my plate of rice and farm
i'm busy with my loveless life and the dam
now is the twenty first century
all the cricketers can score century
still somebody is hungry
still somebody roams in naked on the street
down to earth
with the dreadlock hair
laughing and floating in the smoke of grass
nobody cares nobody
everybody fucks everybody
given a time and place
me too wanna fuck you all

forgotten morning

the morning was silent, cold and forgotten
my room was filled with my thoughts
the tea got spilled over my favourite shirt
the huge sum of phone bills upon my wallet
the curtains splitting wide like a virgin
my window like a black n white television
i could see the sweeper emptying the dust bin

with one hand holding a bidi,
endless smoke from his stinking mouth
perhaps it's the sweetest mouth to his old wife.
the clouds chasing the lazy sun
like in south people chasing northern sons.
the school kids have been dressed up forcibly
some are smiling, some are crying,

some are sleeping and walking
like a flock of frogs looking for rain
they've been woken up from their wonderland.
the newspaper boy cycling so fast
as if he was going to miss the news
of the death of the lady
who has been raped, murdered and shot

the forgotten morning had lots to watch
the remembered evening had nothing except to forget

independence day

my love, can you hear the soldiers marching?
dont you hear the trumpet?
it's independence day.
can you see the tricolor flag waving
goodbye to poverty?
don't you hear the soldiers taking
oath just for you and me?
dont you hear,
the wealthy politicians hosting
the farmers' feast,
promising more crops in the coming years
simply by sitting on his wives' lap?

the armies
the rapists
the singers
the lawyers
the activists
the revolutionaries
the snippers
the pretenders
are gonna help us.

i ain't got no mouth and guts
i ain't got no bullets and shells
i ain't got no love of you and me
they are the savers they are the fighters
they are the keepers, they are the law

oh! Mr. Prime minister are you happy
to see my mothers naked.
oh! Mr. Captain dont you hear the slogan:
"Indian Army, Rape Us"

the deserted road maitain its desertedness.
the mournful cry completes our ears.
the killers' AK47s complete our sights.
the politicians make us go on and on.
a night is not complete without a gunshot.

it's the celebration of independence day.
we are the players they are the judges.


it is raining

it's raining like it has never rained before
the sky's been dull, black clouds've been drifting
my money plant in my corridor becomes wild
spreading like my hair
i'm happy like hippies in woodstock '69

my neighbour's been smoking
everybody's been working like dog
me too busy like a bee in spring
wandering in rain in naked
my toes upon wet mother earth digging

and make me fall in love with everything
under this hazzy sky as if i'd never known love
i feel cold but my soul's happy
even if it's not fed with a proper love
my feets are dancing even if i crawl

march made me sick even if it was spring
june made me cry in tears with viral fever
i stood up in july with a new me
august reminds me my dark lady seeeing me off
i used to be loved ,true, pure and moody

now i rise from my mountains of blues
shine against the long dark cloud
hoping a rainy day again,
so rainy like Cheerapunji
there's no doubt
i'm happy
and sound like a reggae singer.

foot tapping love song

are there tears that you hide from the mirror?
are there liars that you still love and adore?
are there fears within love and lovers?
are there memories that stain like your scar?
are there nights that makes you cry and shiver?

look around,
to you no one's bound
dont get drowned, dont be down
you are still beautiful.

are there pains that make you strong?
are there hands that wipe your tears?
are there times you expect call from your love?
are there memories that scare you like cancer?
are there babies that i kill just for you?

i look upright
see a baby's smile
it's alright
i'm still suffering.

are there times that you cut your hand?
are there bloods inside your veins?
are there flood that wash your pain?
are there hatred for my words of anger?

i feel the air
been swimming for years
like a drowning deer
i'm still hiding tears.


what is your business is none of my business
where you sleep is just a dirty bed to me
how your nipples smell is rotten apples
how your curly hair looks is bramble bush
how your hip curves i dont know

your mouth is stinking
but you want me to pay for it
you want to swallow me
but i'm with my clothes on

my lies are my feelings of the moment
your lies are like flies buzzing in my ear

your sweet words and whispers
sound like two tin roof
scratching against each other
the depth of your navel
than your words it is deeper

what i do is not to impress or defame you
why i come to you is for my animalities

the wild heart beats like a drum in jungle
it tangles up with the sound of your bangles
the rack of my love never lasts again
the armour, sheds, that i wore to face the pain

and i heard the far away voice singing
"you told me again you preferred handsome men
but for me you would make an exception."


my house is on fire
my brother is in prison
my sisters have been raped
my mouth has been shut
my hands have been inside pocket
i can't let my land burn into ashes anymore
i can't let the river flow to the sea of blood
i can't let them decide how i'm supposed to eat

the roads with full of foreign dogs or copes
the revolver pointing at me
like i was born to be a loser
like i was born to be killed
my brother was protesting to his last breath
he died without a cost
my sister is dying of hunger
my friends have been beaten black and blue
I can't let it happen anymore
I can't let my sister bleeds
I can't let the dogs snif my shoe

can somebody hear me screaming
let's get together
our voice will be heard

beethoven's grave

i see Beethoven's grave in my dream
i could hear the moonlight sonata
the romantic music of the romantic period
the loving fingers of the pianist
pointing at me

the drunk father and the poor brothers
listening the magical fingers
the notes grow like waves in the ocean
the soothing sound from the wooden piano

fills all the sober heart
the left over notes
his heart found
carried in his finger tips

copyright 2006 akhu


i was enjoying the calmness of lonely night
i was celebrating human imagination
the mind vehicle passed the highway of madness
the bitches walking around with their hanging breast
my coward soul silently giggles and eat the bread

my ashtray with full of ashes
there's no word left for my pages
my body clock has reached the stage
but the story of walkers on the edge
is not yet over, story of a rolling egg
rolling from trough to crest

my dry throat cried for a gulp of water
and the trembling hands for the last drag
my feelings like bleeding of a teenage girl
never stop outpouring

the brimming rivers are my stories
the weathy fat asses are the devils
the bitches are my angels
the children in rain are the heroes
washing away the evils of human womb
in the rain of bullets and worms

i reach where i could never be
your appreciation is accepted

every sleepless night has a story
but this one will remain incomplete
vincent's madness was famous after the gun shot
i'm gonna sleep let's see what happen
but It's just a celebration of human imagination

house arrestee and the beggar

Feed me some love, my sweet lover
I'm sick of reading this same old newspaper

Play me a song, my old war radio,
For an house arrestee but not for Galileo

Give me some sweetness, my sweet mango
I'm tired to keep my head upon the pillow

Give me your words for my poetry
My words often remind me the useless history

Arrest my wild thoughts, Mr Sheriff
It's gonna rob my soul from this skinny ribs

Set me free Mr jailer or chained me tight
I'm tired to stand nowhere in this fight

Rain on me, you, Mr. Flying Dark Cloud
For the thirsty soul, for a better shout

Come to me, you, Mr. Beggar
Sing me a song of freedom like a singer

the beggar sings
"you and me are same till we die
freedom never comes even if you dive
in the ocean of love,
in the ocean of time,
It's higher than the sky,
Give me your coins before I die
For such song, I dont waste my time
I sing for a mouthfull of rice
For my lover, for a new play of dice."

I sing him back:
"i was celebrating
my freedom of expression
now i'm arrested in my mansion
The sheriff never sets me free
The sweet mango never falls free
My saving coins slip away
My pockets are torn
Nothing left just a mournful song
For someone like you and me."


from tamenglong to home

tamenglong is a name of a district in manipur

A road called Ding Dong
Leads me to my home
From a place called Tamenglong

A road, somewhere up somewhere down
With the smell of the dusty green leaves
Along the range of mountains

A woodcutter's girl sits on the rock
Beside the ding dong road
Singing song like pop rock
She waves goodbye
Rub the watery nose, again cry

I long for my home
but the road never ends
The further i look away
The further I'm away from home

It's a real ding dong
If you take a bus ride along
The road called ding dong
But it will lead me to home

The road takes me, sometimes to cloud
Sometimes down to earth
The screaming wheels like country songs
Like I'm at the farthest end of the country
Which I never own.

It's a real ding dong
Even for the dogs on the roads
Sniffing the bloodiest meat
But they too scared for the Bones
Like once the dogs forgot to bark

It's a real ding dong.
If you take a bus ride along
The road called ding dong
From the place called Tamenglong
But you'll reach home safe
If you think you own this land


me, she and her pride

you lift your skirt,
walk like a princess in dirts
your high heel studded with your cruelty
your jewels like diamond shining crazily

you are proud and talk so loud
you think you have the best smile,
like a pearl from the deepest ocean
like a fire fly in the darkest night
like a snow fall in mid summer
like 'like a bird ' by Cohen
like a dream to live by a cancer patient
like a dream to get married by a prostitute
like a drop of rain leaking though the roof
like seven wonders of the world

you said:
"my home is far
my song fades
my love dies
my poetry is lousy
my music like a howling wolf
my mind like a hollow cylinder."

but i never care
and i will wear
my shirt inside out
like a dream of an owl.

you don't know
there's so much left to whistle.

tell me why
have you been so wild,
like a wild plant of poppy,
like a dancing hippie.

tell me now
the colour of your gown.
your pride won't last
if you see the colour first.

you feel no love, i know you.
i see you walking upon lovely dews.
you long for a reason to leave
for a better place, just not to bleed .


rest in peace

i was lying down next to the rocky sea beach
in bombay
i hated the climate but scared of the wild waves
i was half asleep
my cellphone vibrates suddenly
and it said ' your grandfather died last night'

i remember him
cycling every corner of imphal
his favourite black wide umbrella
and his faded coat
which gave him the warmest hug ever
his garden was his life
the guavas, plums and mangoes
of the garden
like pearls to him
the pond look greenish
the bubbles pop up against the spider
and the water hyacinth
the cleanest pond i ever saw

he was Irabot's comrade
he hanged his picture
between lenin and stalin
he was crazy about football
he was deaf and happy

i thought i have saved my sister from cancer
but it has taken away my old grandfather
he was suffering but never ever reflects
my old grandfather died
may his soul rest in peace
i will miss you, pupu
i will miss your story
of history of communism in manipur


it's everything
if you have nothing
or own nothing
it's nothing if you have lots of it
or you really own it
it's more than a prostitute
everyone can smell it
lick it
feel it
tear it
love it
many have died
many are fighting
just for it's sake
it flies for place to place
like a paper plane

what is it tell me, if you know
you have it
i know
i have none

a mail to a friend

dear ashley,

i am leaving tomorrow for mumbai,,
i will say 'hi' to mumbai from your side
i dont know why i'm going there
the city has no connection with me
the city that i have been connected
seems lost in its pollution
the sound of the screaming tyres
the decorated roaside by spitted betel leaves
the beggars at every traffic point
those heart shaped balloons
which have no price
like their lives,
running and playing and fighting
for the moment against the heavy vehicles.
i do miss sometimes.
those morning scenes of those people
taking bath next to tube well near the dairy
make me smile inside me and funny
despite of all those flamboyant gentlemen
i wonder how these cities
are complete without you and me
the roads never ends
the stray dogs fighting over the garbage
like us and them fighting
for deserved foods and rights
the hijarahs caught me for my innocent look
asked me money
touched my balls through my pocket
but they left me for the stinking fish i carried
i salute the stinking fish
sometimes they came and called me 'bahadur'
it's the city that have been connected to me
and i love it and still feel it
but i will still say hi to your mumbai
to embrace me

with kisses

ashley replied to me

Please don't call it Mumbai.
That is the name given to it by Hindu fascists
and we reject them, don't we?

I miss my city.

rainbow or wedding night

it is our wedding night
you are too shy
i wont touch you
but i'm not shy
you smile like a new sun
rises behind the hills in the east
after begging heaven for so many years
after i shed all those tears
just for you to say to me
i am stupid

your fingers' like infant's
seem so soft
is it the finger that pointed to me
in the crowd,
among the poems of hatred?
is it the belly that touched me
while we walked under
your favourite yellow umbrella?

the moon shines on the window curtain
you look out through the window
as innocent
as kid watching the season's first rain

you smell sweet like jackfruit
the warm body i can feel
your perfect smile like crimson sky
you hush.

I ask myself:
am i the same one who loves being wild
who loves sound of lonely waves
hitting the cracked bank?

the nature seems perfect now for me.
you remain motionless
like a pyramid
like a spider waiting for his prey
but you wait for nothing
your silence tells me a lot
as i know you,
or you never let me know

thanks for being with me
in this wonderfull wedding night
the first wedding of mine.

i want to touch you
but i am scared to know the reality
if it is a dream
then i am dreaming again
for everything
i cannot reach
like things are rainbow

mid lazy april's cup of tea

april, like an evil leaves me with fear
mid summer wind penetrates me like a spear
the blackbird's twitter irritates me
like philosophy irritates me
what is the meaning of one's existence?
how far one has to go, dont know the distance?
is it the existence or distance which is important?

I'm free from myself boating on a river
streaming into abyss without a driver

the grass get dried not because the sun is hot
the leaves fall not because for poets
a lover loves a lover not because for love
it is the way how it should be, how it's gonna be

great discussion repels me, I'm dumb
they spit or speak hell lots of shit!! I jump
true experience of life, did they ever have?

this sunny day beats my feeling, I'm free
the hot sweet cup of tea in free of cost
makes me feel dumb as he teased me,the host

an upside down tree, sparrow in reverse
butterfly in rain
rain in my room, fire on my bed
grasshoppers on computer keyboard,
crows in front of mirror, posing
my reflection on water in naked
smoke,from burning hatred, from kisses of love
the empty cup in my hand hits the moment
Newton under the banyan tree
mourning why is he always under some tree

what a day it is, end of april, hell of devils
april, like an evil leaves me with fear
fear to know myself
fear to listen my conscience
fear to convince myself I'm free
free from what you tell me?

the brainstorming leaves

i dont do drugs, i smoke leaves of grasses
not walt whitman's grass

they said i look and behave like poet
i know what's their point

all the comrades i saw, talk hell lots of shit
but dont know how to button their shirts

i went to the lady when i had enough of this world
the lady in white, leaning on the wall

pushing out her well curved breast
put her hand inside it like she is gonna give me the best

there she took out the brown small envelope
like a sweet sixteen giving me her love

i got my sweet grass now in my hand,
on my nerves, inside my veins

words start fighting for better rhyme
music notes floatimg in the air like widows' hymn.

my fantasy to fall in love with a widow
i can see vividly through my broken window.

she completes my incomplete poetry
she points her finger to a fallen leaf, said it's the poetry.

she lies down on my wooden couch
that i got, all the way from mandalay, free of cost.

her perfect body waters the dry leaves
the lazy soul wakes up like spring trees

and i said: "sweety!
will you be my honey?

will you show me what is love and not love?
what is the height of heaven, where is your white dove?

the silence comes knocking on my doors
the sweet grass gets washed away by the cry of jim, the doors

i throw away my smelly blanket
i peep through my window with my swollen eyes like a bat

the world is flying and shattering into pieces, the driver was overdosed
the poors, like butterflies, are colorfull and me, still a yellow rose

i throw away my smelly blanket
i shave my head and have a look at my cat

she hides her tail like a coward dog
i shout at her: dont you recognise me, bitch, oh! god

my neighbours are watching me cleaning my smelly shoe
wondering what a change in this world of akhu

i lock my house of leaves of grass
not walt whitman's poems: "leaves of grass"

i walk down the narrowest road
so that i dont fall down on the road

the cobbler say's i'm looking for my strings
somebody shouts, a cigarette bud is what i'm searching
i know what i'm really looking for ........

inside me i'm whistling:
"somewhere they called it marijuana
somewhere they called it ganja
somewhere they called it hemp
it's the best looking plant,
it's the sweetest grass"

for myself, romstone and naobi

me and the blues!

hmmmmmm! a pain

an angel in silence
praying for the rain
for the thirsty throat
longing for the drops
dreaming of thunder
dying of hunger
seeing the sailing boat
watching the rain pouring
looking at the empty pocket
unzipping my heart
to let it beat freely
to show i exist
to show i got blood
crying out loud my heart
with the tears
no more tears left
no more feelings
everything is new
nothing is same
but still there is the shame
shame on me
for being a rusty knife
for being an angel
for being a son
for being akhu
for my nose
for my small eyes
for my torn jeans
for all the old shirts
shame on you too
for everything you did
in the darkness
of daylight
no love between stranger
just curiousity
just shitty look
who you are
who i'am
nobody cares
toghether we complete
this undemocratic
that claims to be
democratic globally
At back home
they drummed my dad's skull
they smoked my marrow
prick my heart
they rape my girls
they left my sister in prison
they burn my brother
they claim we are safe
how an angel suffers
like a poor actor
a useless soul
thinks of a revolution
to revolt against them
but how and when
without bread and butter
no guns and bullets
no writings no singing
no revolution
no harvesting festival
the lonely time
just passes
seeing me fading
like far away kite
my desires and hopes
lingering around
in the air in the air
their expectation
remains inside them
an angel fading
an angel's dream
to own a wing
to learn to fly
remains a story
I'm sorry,
there is no glory
In my stories
the three storey
building belongs to melody
the melody of of my story

black frock and silver ring

I cant stop searching for the face in crowd
You disappear saying nothing to me
You are lost in the silence of darkness
like a ballon in the dark sky
like a fire fly among the stars

I can't forget the pain you left inside me
your stories of ghost, haunting inside me
Your black frock lying unwashed inside cupboard
i wish i could forget you
I wish i was you.

I sing for you and i
come to me,
Say to me
You are back to me

Or you are too selfish
you said words failed you everytime you think about me
Now i know it was me who failed.

your stories of your step mom
your stories of sparrows and Jamiacan music
How you listened "chocolate brown"

I remember
I remember you taking off your shirts off
the scar in your waist
the thread you wear in your waist

the silver ring is there
I don't wear
It smells like rusty iron bars of Indian old train
I hate the smell now

It reminds me those beggars
in crazy summer train
singing different tune
with the same lyrics:
Praising Allah
No matter where they belong
No matter where they piss

I'm a lonesome blues
I'm a cry from wild bush
I'm fucked up by the morning winter dews
Carry on your selfishness
keep your feet higher
dirts may spoil your cracked toes

Musical Society

I'm neither good in writing English nor in telling stories. I'm not trying to be an intellect or philosophical. I'm just a guy who loves yongchak like every other Manipuri guys and helplessly hoping for something to come on my way. I'm a music lover. I don't know how to start about it. Please don't take it seriously, it's just my opinion and you are free to criticize me.

In Manipur, people have protested in numbers of ways against every odd things. Now it really doesn't matter whether you protest in naked or remain hungry for half decade, no one is going to listen me and you.
Why don't we do something different? Why don't we start protesting through music? We should do something like those Black American Singers during civil war.

If you are creative you can make the world fool and carry the world around your hips like Aishwarya carries both Big B and Small B. And I believe there are lots of talented guys in every corner of Manipur who have been misused by drugs and Indian Armies. Beside all these, we don't even have any kind of entertainment, but we do need it, we are social animal. So it leads our youngster to drugs ultimately, I don't blame them for it, it's a demand of their age. Everyone becomes frustrated, angry and disappointed.

My idea is why don't we try to give them a platform to express their anger in a better way, so that people listen to them to understand them, instead of taking up syringes or SP or gun. I'm no one to provide them the space,( I should mention this because we manipuris are mastered in leg pulling and gossiping and they will tear me apart). But If we are together we can do a lot of better things than simply sitting and blaming our elders.

I'm not asking you to make career out of music, if you do, you'll remain hungry like our old comrade Tapta, hungry in the sense that he can't throw away his old torn faded jeans for a better pair of Levis.

Seriously, do you know where are we heading? We are falling into abyss. We have left with nothing to lose or nothing to gain. we have lost faith in ourselves.
Let's create a musical society through which we can protest,in the same time our youngsters also become constructive and productive.

Let's give ourselves a chance
Let's give peace a chance
Let's give land of protest a chance

(an ode to my homeland)

This world is indeed cruel as mama told me
When I stepped my feet away from the land of protest
A land where i can't roam free, even if it's mine
A land where i can't speak from heart even if I'm hurt
No one gives me shelter in my land

It's my torn shoes that carries my weight
And take me to the strangest place
Far away from that land of protest
A protest against the killings
Aprotest for the seek of self determination

I do miss the sound of gunshots at night
Which put me to sleep with lots of thought in my mind
Never understood why the folks were sweating
Why my dad was shivering in those hot summer night
When the moon was hanging low like the summer mangoes
And the stars twinkled like those taught in Kindergarten

I miss the empty roads where i did skating
Never knew what was curfew, like it was many sundays
Mother sang me the lullaby which was lost in time
And Fade away like shadows of clouds
In the background of the sounds
Of the boots of the Indian armies
Patrolling on the empty torn roads
And assured Mother was not safe at my home.

This was the land I belong.
It's still the same land I belong
It will never change

Dont Take me to the land of protest, My torn shoes
Let me be a stranger to these strangers.
I'll go back when I get a pair of boots
I'll walk like those copes on the empty roads
Will sing the lullaby to the people
About the fullmoon nights i had spent
In search of a new pair of boots, in the strangest place
Far away from the land of protest
A land I dream to go back
With a new pair of spainish leather boots
A land where the cost of bullets is higher than my life