But this heart is still
as heavy as jackfruit
but with no sweetness
as you can see in my smile.
i smile now like a cactus in desert
waiting for nothing but a hot breeze
I sleep like an aged man
with his dreams in his lip
I eat like a soldier
who is heading for a battle
I walk like a homeless man
who knows no wife no siblings
no daughter is waiting for him
I cry without tears
like a crow learning to smile.
I fought with every vein inside me
when i had friends to clean me up
Now i fight like an earthworm
Oh My heart is so heavy now
like a jackfruit
Dont cry for the things that we see
Just drink upto ur throat
And curse what you see
And forget it the next morning
'cos we will see another dead son
we will hear another sad song.
These are all a planned game
You and I should not bother
And i am learning it
like those many educated people
as you know we are not talking of cultivation
which you claimed as your childhood profession
And Words are not enough as you know
for the sleepy eyes
We must make them open
or we must make them go Blind.
And your Voluminous Poems will do it
but not by keeping it for me or you to read out
when we are dosed with Whiskey
but to recite it at Oinam Bazar
To recite it at Kangla GAte
To read out at Ema Keithel
to Recite it at Shiroi Hills
to Cry it out loud at Loktak.
For the Other patriots
Who celebrate counting widows
I just see them peeping into my windows
to hear my father counting his hard earned Money,
They are not patriots
they are parrots
of the cheapest kind
which utter what ever they have seen
which mimic badly their fathers
We must not die cheaply in their bullets
They will fill their pockets.
the roads will be blocked for one day
for all the songs i sing.
And if you say this is how they disregard
a patriot in this land of patriots,
Yes, I am a patriot too.
But don't splatter flowers on my coffin
dont write those same quotes
dont hurt the watchers with your cries
Just walk bold whether you wear black or white
Just tell them he was just a patriot
A patriot who pretended to be farmer
A patriot who cried in his songs
A patriot who wrote poem inside the burning house
A patriot who died for no cause as you will
A patriot who drowned in the dream of his generation.
The light flashed into our exploited yellow skin
Our t-shirts with his face
Were not noticed anymore as expected
I saw the MP posing, sitting in his Nehru collar shirt
Guarding his daughters as if we were rapists like Indian Army
Who he feeds, who he let us raped
Who he is so scared about for the all mustache.
He didn’t let the daughters read what I have in my hands
And I know politicians like him has got the worst descendant
Despite all the money he saves in his fucking pocket.
He held my arms and said I was cool
For not getting angry with his words
But I surely got angry and I knew
How would I react to his shallow thoughts
And to an old shallow chauvinist like him.
I screamed back in the empty air
“How in world you belong to Manipur,
How in world you ask me about my career
When you allow to have Army Camp
Inside our only university
How in world your little shitty speech gonna bring change”
We all know once you start wearing that Khadi Kurta
Go back and run from Ukhrul to Churchandpur
You will know how you have been representing our lives
Or sit next to the Poet.
And stop contributing 5000 bucks for five years
In which you will lavishly admire
the peaceful sites of Parliament street
Stop contributing 5000 bucks for every event the student organize
One thousand for each year for you to sit calm and preach absurdity.
You name everything
In the way you want
If it looks or tastes good
Whether it is fish or chilly.
When there were bamboo polls
In every gate,
And when the drains were wide
Your fish housed inside hollow bamboos
No one bothered it.
Never had it noticed the torn fishing net.
Never had it protested for being caught
And kept inside the poor lady’s ngabongkhao
Now it has come out of the muddy drain
And learn to talk loud and dig the earth.
For Maharaj Gambhir,
A flyover has been paved
Like a red carpet
Towards Kangla Gate,
By the great politicians of our time,
So that the Maharaj doesn’t find
The poor mothers
And their unsold vegetables and fishes.
The politicians house your fish
Inside their pockets and socks.
And now they look down from the flyover
To find the crest and trough
Of our economy
To pour fuel and burn it
To start all over again a new wave
To amplify further
Their lives and wives
With golds and our death.
Now your fish has been fed so much
That it grows its teeth so sharply
Its tail can wipe away the statue of Maharaj
And it did sometime back in Moirang
Now the poets have not heard
The chirping of the skylark
Since your fish turned into a Shark
And the politicians recite our history
Of the poor mothers
Who fought days and nights
Saving the lives of so many sons
While the shark get lost
In the middle of the redness
That the blood colored
all you can see is red
all you can see is the sun sinking.
there is no morning
there is no haunting...
because no dead man walks
but you can hear the sweetest songs
echoing from tea garden of Assam
to Loktak lake of Manipur
from the cloudy sky of Shillong
to snow covered mountain of Tawang.
Don't look east,
Don't study their history
Don't let people pass through its mountain
Don't write their books
The east is cursed
cursed for the different face
cursed for what we stand for
cursed for loving freedom
cursed for all the resources
he saw the innocent death.
he burnt the flag
standing upon the mountain
till the ashes flickered all over the land
till his eyes got blurred with tears
but when he died with the bullets
his body was wrapped by the same flag
and it remains as a story of a traitor
and i dont know how to sing this song
and said, "i am the ma-fkin government"
the poor husband and his wife waited for the rich
on the highway and they spat on their boots
and screamed, "i am your government"
every gang from every fucking corner
came out on the streets and shouted;
i am your fucking government..
So they rap anarchy
So they rap anarchy
So they sing chaos
so they sing chaos