thoughts of you

Your daddy is a rich man
i can imagine him wearing white
every morning like the other rich does.
he worries for you and your future
he knows you are becoming an intellect
He can make you select
for any job you wish, he can even dissect
the rules for you, he can even inject
the syrup of Gandhi anywhere if needed
and you are often praised by your friends
and your godfather and whoever that admires
your cleavage and words of your songs and poems
but i see whatever you sing and recite
you learn from books and television
and the libraries which are kept so clean
in the heart of the cities
people like me are not allowed to enter
yet it is with full of tears and wails
i am not saying i suffer more
but yours look pretentious
i too cry unheard like you in your poem.
please feel beyond being feminist
and dont get carried away by surrealists
cos we live in the very place
where we die for no reason
but you will not die and you will not hide too
cos your fencing are higher than ever
cos you drink the best drinks
cos you live the best life
but learn to feel them in your sleepless night
i am sure you will shiver and sweat
you will roll and toss with your pillow.

when the bamboo flowers

inside the coffin lies the innocent faces
killed by the deadly bamboo flowering
in their sweet little smile
lie the untold stories of their village

they knew there would be famine or death
they knew the government would never come

Hey! Mr. Chief Minister,
looking at the wailing mother
do you think you have helped them?
watching them swallowed by mother earth
do you think you ever represent them?

Girls of your kind

Girls of your kind are the most i hate,
dont try to play cute, dont try to act ,
dont show me your clean teeth
i find it as disgusting as your shit.
dont behave like virgin with your smile
doesnt matter you got the brain of a child
you could be wild in bed
you could be attractive in naked
but i dislike your scented breathe
that makes me read your future;
you will die getting bored
with your husband's withered balls
with your daughters playing the same roll
you played reading Shakespeare
with her mind wondering of getting herself pierced.
Girls of your kind are the most i hate.

PS: this is not related to anyone. SO ignore if it hurts you :)
it is just my weird thinking about a painting i painted long back
on the wall of my toilet,, come see the toilet,,it is no more winter time, you wont smell yongchak anymore. Come i have an exhibition on my toilet walls.

Ghost and Fools in Kabul

Thought Taliban was gone long back
But It was only its turban and beard
that was gone, that was ashed
but now there are ghosts and fools
in the heart and mouth of Kabul
as they shouted "Slaves Of the Christians"
Fight for your right my women
slit their throats and whisper to their ears;
"You gonna cut his balls
and sow it to the soils
of this awful city, Kabul,
and every time it grows
you will cut it down
down! doWN! DOWN!

Come Free

Come free like you were born
It is the battle of human beings

it is the ethnic war!
what is the colour of your car
is what matters to your rival..
somewhere or the other
another Mississippi will be burning

Come free leaving your history
it is the battle for the moment

It is the fucking war!
they decide what you are
by your skin colour and how you talk
somewhere or the other
another movement will emerge

Come free as you are not gonna leave anything
as you gonna fight for your grave

It is the death
that is your destiny
as they want you and as they brought you up
somewhere or the other
many you will be killed or become killers

Shaolin Boys yet non-commercial

We are the non-commercial Shaolin boys
Who have never seen the Chinese toys
Yet dream to sleep with Helen of Troy

We have learnt not to die out of hunger
we have learnt not to smile like beggar

But they made us strip on the road
But they made us sleep on the road
yet we walk with pride not like dog

we were told good stories about our folks
about the times of Women War and Irabot
By the fireside we could feel the cold
coldness of the death, yet so bold

And we walk with pride, yet jobless
as the mighty god gonna save our ass
but we feel the sky is falling on us
and we are going to miss the bus

But in our little piece of heaven
we light the candle whenever we disagree
with truth, with them, with folks
we dance with the brand new season
to teach our selves a lesson
with our hips and cigarettes butts

Ode to Pressure Cooker

I have loved you so far
and indeed the finest lover you are.
still i can close my eyes
and to you i can still rely.

I love you without any reason
because when you embrace this heart of poison
which is as fragile as bangle
i have got no sperms in my testicles

I reach to you so thin and dirty like a stray dog
you love my company too
whoever they are
wherever they are from.

You have got no religion
and you dont think of your own siblings or sons
you are the only surviving example
Of Karl Marx

But no lecturer has mentioned your name
in their lecture halls
No one wrote a book for you
No one dreams about you

You are nowhere near the hammer and sickle
But we must still love each other
as i love you always
as you satisfy me all the time.

i even love your song
as you love mine.
But this world is bit cruel to both of us
so you and I must stand by each other

and i must remind you
in the words of Gabriel García Márquez
that "your heart has more rooms
than the whore house"

but i should be right in the best place
as i never hurt you in my old bad days
of fucking prostitution.
And you got no possession.

you got no limits and horizon
and the dreamer, Lennon
was singing for you
I knew and I knew

Qutub Minar: A Dream

it was such an antique
it could be called an ancient prick
it was 72 meters long
i laid it down on earth
and fixed some old maruti car engines in it
and tried to take off
like fighter jet plane.
it was too heavy.
then i took it to Indira Gandhi Airport
to book a flight to carry it all the way
to Tulihal Airport,
But there was no such plane to carry the prick.
and there was no train to drag it.
So i carried it on my shoulder
and walked more than 2000 kilometers.
i rested for two hours at Bihar
and had the hottest cup of tea of my life
i swam across the mighty Brahmaputra River
with the prick.
i felt like Hanuman.
i stopped at Kohima and had the best meal of my life
had the best sex with a whore too free of cost.
and finally stood at Sekmai with a peg of Chamelei
with Qutub Minar as my snack.
Before i reached Home,
I heard the Black Car honking
and there Mr. Ibobi came out from the car
and asked me "What the hell are you upto, Young Man?
I said "i want to erect this prick
Qutub Minar in the heart of Imphal."
Ibobi said, "no! you cant, what would i say to Manmohan?
In delhi the NDA government is wondering who did it
the opposition is saying Manmohan gifted it to Obama
to erect it next to the statue of liberty"
I said "This is how they will repeal AFSPA
You know how heavy it was to carry this Minar?"
The minister replied "Sharmila has been fasting
for many years and they dont repeal it still,
do you think they will do it this time?"
"Yes they will now, and when i return it back to them
i will have the dead names carved on it
and the BJP will be happy not to see Qutub Minar
at least for few days"

And there the bang on my door
i woke up and saw the newspaper boy with the bill
and later my love took me for shopping
while she tried her new clothes
i held her bag and it was heavier than Qutub Minar

you and i

One drunken night in the end of March
In this awfully filthy city
you and I walked
from one bus stop to other
searching for something
which we would never find.
i wanted to stop you saying,
"you were the nicest of them all"
but i knew you would have not listened to me
as you smell the bird of your life around
And you and i knew "it was the beginning of end"
with the silence around.
your words tangled up
with the song of the city
that bade goodbye to the noise
of the rich men's car
The night's calmness was just a masquerade
as your heart was heavier than a dead body
as your words hardly meant what you felt
a your spectacles veiled the tears
from the windy dark night .

When honesty is a just a good word
in the old priest's vocabulary
how cannot we be dishonest
so that we can confess to our love ones
but you have learned the bird never did
as she flies higher and higher
where sweetness and tender
shatters into anger.
I knew you were always good
at what you have spoken
I believed you would never get broken
but that night i saw you in a heaven
with the words of an angry poet
but this time not a working class poet
but a man with a dagger deep down in his chest.

And for the blues
that you choose
and for the color
your eyes never get blurred
you must move on
with the scent of whiskey
from your breath
which makes the city dizzy.