to the CM

We all know
your existence in our poetry
is not as some flowers or the moon
but as the rapist of Mother Manipur
who still sucks her dead nipples
who still melt her frozen blood to sell away
to the Parliament House;
in return you get full loads of army trucks
to make this land a funeral house

You jump over
from one death to other
sucking lifeless cold and dry blood
How long How long
the white kurtas can veil the red blood you sucked?
It is all transparent now

We all know
Our history has reserved a big chapter for you
to sit, sleep and eat with your gluttonous heart.

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