A dawn with Ibopishak

4am in the morning
He felt off from my dirty old book shelf
he stood up dusting off his bald head
and looked at me
like i was one of his half written poem
and said "don't follow me
searching for the silver oak tree
i have chopped it down
wearing my wife's gown
calling myself Shrimati Tomcha Babu
i hid myself from police babus
but never i could hide myself from poetry
the Chilean poet claimed poetry came after him
but i am poetry since 1969
soaking my legs in Kongba river
hanging under the bridge for my beloved
i was the one who plucked mangoes from a branch named "China"
and ate them at a branch named "Africa"

don't follow me
walk ahead
I have to meet George Bush at Lilong
don't even follow my poetry
they hardly reach Shillong
I ride a Humber Bicycle
but never learnt to slow down
to talk to the man in bullock cart
or never to talk to a peasant
when my wife demands me a new blouse
in my house of poetry
in the beginning of poetry full of month
and you know?
I stitch a blouse for her with my poetry

don't follow me
they have translated my poems already
but no one can translate me
who can translate me?
not you not any of you in this valley
how will you translate
the wail of a hungry market dog
how the fuck will you interpret
a dog urinating on my bald head
how? how on earth?

don't follow me my boy
I was the "hayingkhongyambi"
that questioned the beliefs of our drunken Vaishnavites
i was that mouthful of rice in Lukhak-Kom
that called himself a king of this land

i was the one who sold kids
in the carnival of death and corpses
with parrots eating the flesh of  young boys

don't follow me
look at them learn to live a poetryless life
go find a good wife
poetry can't challenge your enemy
look at me dying here
look at my books lying there
but i have no fear for this land
but only the one with fear survives here
with their pockets full of lies

lovers in winter

lovers in winter
like left over plate of rice
to a poor family
from a rich family
eating up the flesh
like a fresh rose
in the morning sun
frying themselves in bed
rolling and tossing
creating a moist universe
fills with cries in verse

lovers in winter
they dont feel cold
they don't hold to their age
they are newly born
stoned with lust
just as stupid as clown in circus
they whisper in silent night
they cry watching Popeye
they serve dinner with waist down naked
they just smile and say thousand words

Lovers in winter
they are the singers
they polish their fingers
for the dark night
their legs kick in air
they pant in stair
with silent giggles
in the rhythm Christmas jingles


Driving the Contessa
i peeled the dusty road
with my sister tired and bored
looking for a peg of life
in the foreign evening
of Christmas stars
we thought it was a dry day
but with sweat and blood
 the street was all wet
and a sad man
with blood dripping from his nose
looked away blindly
as Santa Claus got stuck
in traffic jam for the beggar boys
so the socks they filled with coins
with thumbs up
and they sang
"Such a life
of such day
how do you find my friend
how does it feel to be in the street?" 


where is me
tell me
you want to play
hide and seek.
am i in your city
or in my valley
Reading Shelly
i give up poetry
Reading pound
i lose a pound
do i sound
like a stupid queen in crown
or a proud fowl
which escapes a soup of bowl
Oh i am stupid
as cupid
dont think it is a poem
i will hit your loin

A post card to my father

I am your travelling-son, father,
Since you left me
In the crowded railway station of Guwahati
i started my journey by Brahmaputra Mail
with a physicist who loves Graham Greene
who taught me life is short to do everything
and i learnt the hardest part is to be a traveller like me
and the easiest thing is to write poetry
using names like Neruda, Guevara and Mayakovsky

Father, in my journey
I have missed home
but i believed there is so much in love
and the city i travelled
Now i wish to recycle this city in my desktop
as it threw me out on 15th December, 2009
leaving me stranded in a crossroad
with 1000kilograms of luggage
that i gathered in my ten years of travelling.
where shall i go now with all these
with no friends and notepads
where i can fit them as poetry
like stars studded in a pixel of sky
Must i end here?
Shall i burn myself out at home?
Don't tell me father "Go tell it on the mountain"?

I imagine you selling transistors to old men
It is Christmas time, you must be selling stereo tape too
to the brothers from hills who wear leather pants and hats
like some Texas cowboy in old Hollywood movies
But the smile was gone from your face
the grey beard replaced it
as you die fighting with them for every demand letter
they brought to your table.
I curse myself for loving home sometime
as i know they too prove that they love the land
with names like Kangleipak, Republic front and borrowing
all the good phrase of great history of revolutions.

I apologise father
I am your travelling son
who seeks nothing in life
other than living a day with a rucksak 
filled few lousy algebraic calculations
and few poems
dying to be on some white page of a capitalist

I am sending you this post card
as Christmas arrives everywhere with snow,
 i know you don't care of Christmas
but you will smell it in the rice and potatoes you eat
as it passed through highway 39
or you listen to the bell "Nagaland for christ"
Give my kisses to mother.

Hip Hop Poem

i was inside the store
listening to a black song
about the world going wrong
smoking pot through a bong
they call it submarine
it reached my spleen
I break danced with my head in spin
while the radio sang I am the king
yet in this world where do i fit in
I dont know i don' know

Mama cries watching soap opera
the poets die for words of Neruda
Flamboyant chick, she wants America
The newspapers, all for Telangana
while the radio sang I am the king
yet in this world where do i fit in
I dont know i don' know

If you were born Indian
drowning in Sambar or frying with benggan
Ten days of fast fucked the nation
But nine years of fast in the hill
dies away like effect of a crocine pill
so I say fuck the nation
they have no solution
while the radio sang I am the king
yet in this world where do i fit in
I dont know i don' know

To Peace

Peace blooms good in books
Peace looks good when it means White dove

But I have also seen a friend (Kanano Khangbro)
who flushed it down in some western commode
may be too impatient
like the toothbrush which couldn't wait
to see the teeth shining for a cheap ad
and the toothbrush too was with peace.

Yoko and Lennon left the bed
leaving peace as wrinkles on the bedsheet
with pillow stained with lennon's imagination
O Peace!
Stop teasing me
i don't long for you

Call me a Hero

If i die while writing a poem
dont call me a poetry maniac
call me a Hero :)
as i search for home in words
like bomb and tomb

Mangjijao Hoten-2

Lately Ta Mangijao discovered that his only son
Danny Jao is also very good  in organising events
He organised a birthday event at Kilokri Subji Mandi
in which the birthday boy cut a cabbage as the night was dark
and lost the cake in midnight traffic jam of delhi
he can't bear any kind of viruses
he exterminate viruses and name them after people he know
like "Ringo, Raju, Sumitra"

Proud Ta Mangijao posted his sons pictures on the walls of his hoten
in different pose including Krishna Pose
which often looks like something heavy is inside him.

After a heavy meal of Hangam chamthong and hawaijar metpa
Ringo day dreamt, sitting at the bench of Hoten
smoking a Mantu Bidi with a tooth peak in his mouth
he finds his love in Loktak, clad in phanek with a long in her hand
and singing Pamuba laone, Software na kanaroi
lamdamse hardware olle India gi

her visits to Mangjjao hoten made Sumitra quite an Intellect
so she teaches "Romeo's recipe of Oak Chagempomba"
instead of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet
And the young radical Muslim students are liking it
as she never used word "Swor"

Wondering the "non linear dynamics" of Ta Mangijao hoten
Umeshkanta came like winter crab near Imphal Turel
with his crazy leg he learnt from John Travolta of Pulp Fiction
with Uma Thurman who was a wfie of a Black Gangster
who got sodomised by a Gay Police.

And While the hoten was enjoying the news of Ringo jao being eloped
leaving his Yamaha peirced an old Banyan Tree
Sonyboy complained of the stinking toilet as he followed Romeo Jao
after they had "Wathi Chagempomba"
with the good old club secretary who wished Ene Purnimashi while she was sitting
near a khongban :)

So tamo Basanta Jao left a western commode for Sonyboy
"My boy! Dont make yourself heavy
But make mother earth heavy
there are aliens around to take off mother earth like a space ship"

da Balan jao came late at night
with a Mayep on his shoulder playing a song called "Fireflies"
to forget the blues of his eloped daughters

Ta Vimol came like gansgter of 80's bollywood with bald head
asking Da Balan Jao "who took away the girl?"

They belived Akhu took the girl away..but no
the truth is Akhu came his pant rolled down and shirt rolled up
looking for a dog to lick away his yongchak flavour ass
as Tamo Basanta Jao advised in his uchina like ears

And Da ringo Jao came "Bingo" again
and screened his movie "Into the wild"
like the filmaker in Mr. Bean's Holiday
all the critics agreed the movie was good
but the film lacked romance,love and tender
and too much of Bidi and drinks

Ta Basanta Jao distributed Sand clock to Pakhang macha
reminding them that they belong to Kangleipak  to
marry young, who knows a bullet is on your way?

But the mesage leaked way
thru zipped Pakora in Gmail 
and reached ta Duran Jao
So suddenly he dressed up himself as Groom
and posed in mirror and the mirror shattered into pieces
and the whole mumbai woke up thinking of another 26/11
but he said to the world
"Now i am going to be married soon
Dwipen! come! Hold the Chaisen!
Ringojao, Kadai eigi Satin!
Ta Balan Jao! Spare me from E-RANG
Now i myself need some e-rang"

While TaDuran Jao was playing drum in his own Marriage
Supriya popped up here and there like a feet in the rhythm of thabal drum
sometime in Dubai during Ramdan
sometime in Banglore wearing the biggest chapal on earth
sometime in delhi to sing "Let it be"
while Umeshkanta Jao is trying to snatch away the MIC for his Lan Pamde

When Ringo ended being a tired Motor Cycle Dairy Hero
DA KK jao came with a yellow Lambetta
and they both rode off for the BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN

and single Dwipen jao started looking around for his right mate
but he found no one except the same old Chafu of Uti of Ta Mangijoao

And suddenly everyone in Mangijao Hoten heard the news
"Someone eloped, someone eloped, Nupi chelle Nupi cHelle"
Ta Mangijao spread his mat(fak)
and everyone sits with a glass of black tea in their hands
and start the usual the discussion on everything under the sun
But Ta Duran Jao is missing ....
and suddenly TaMangijao's radio bursts:
"Leikai gi echal apamba yam yaowee
Mityeng nayeng yamna chumdaba yaowee

Maisnam Mangijao Hoten

there was a confusion between Maisnam and Denzongpa
untill Da Danny opened Mangijao Hoten
standing inside the lee shoes of his daddy Mangijao
And so a Broken hearted Da Ringo came down
from the hills of Ukhrul with a cigerrete in his hand
like a hungry useless meitei lion singing Zionism by his black shirt

Tamo Basanta brought Morning to Mangijoa hoten
with his nursery rhyme "Taibi Taibi Yes Praja"
while the hills were singing "Hallelujah"
Sometimes he came with Toningkok
wearing neck tie and sold it to Tamo Vimol and Ta Duran

Ta Duran arrived in evening sitting on a banana leaf
like he was having a magic carpet ride with his eyes
gazing at Ta Mangijao's Bora thru his thick glasses
he pleased the girls in the hoten singing "Love me two times baby"

And Da KK popped out of an old Krishna calender of Hero Cycle
which was posted since class of 1999 next to Ta Mangijao's Funga
when the torn krishna smelled the chicken iromba of Romeo, the moreh hero
Romeo not only was a great cook
he even sold away pumpkins from thong nambonbi
saying they are all from Moreh
He wears a garland of sunflowers and serve KFC to Mangijao hoten

And Raju the overdosed poet with haiku
sits next to Mangijao's Meiphu
smoking bidi, blowing meikhu
waiting for the freid Waikhu

And earlier the girls were too shy to smoke
eventually they became Nisha Bandh
with their mouth stink with Vodka and Rum
while supriya sold away Hawaijar in dates
while Babina became a poet who lost her gender
between Jao and Thourani

And Dwipen left everyone for his spiritual life
that he longs for since he became single
and breakfasted with Old Monk in Pune
But he came home wearing Da Ringo's face "Yumai"
Yes his face has become spiritual
and as soon as he came back he jumped into a chafu of TaMangijao's Uti
he wishes to grow his tummy like Himalaya
"it is eternity"

Winter Time

it is winter time
with market full of peas
it is winter time
with days full of sleep

give me peace
no the scars from drunken night
November left me
with my forehead swollen
December arrived
with my weak punch bleeding

i am living
with my hair falling like autumn leaves

Mama it is winter time
dont call me from home
i dont want to hear the news
dont wake me up mama
i only want to wake up clean
leaving my scars on my Moreh blanket

it is winter time
and i dont want to hear a chime
of the church bell
that rob the sincerity of many lives in hills

it is winter time
i dont want to write a poem of hate
it is winter time
love falls from the sky
i pick it
and get lost in translation
and i say "Sarang Ngiyo"
as she asks me to pay back
the six years of love and fight
with my stupidity,

the six years in which
she adoringly said
quoting Ondatjee
"Seeing you
i want no other life"
when it is winter and we die
ourselves for pork with bamboo shoot

it is winter time
again a weekend arrives
flavoured with smoke and scent of rum
and we burn out like fireflies in dawn

the great cook

The great cook has arrived in town
with a recipe book wearing a white gown

So no animals walk the streets
no cows, no buffaloes, no humans
He has brought the biggest tandoor from Punjab
and the spices from south India
he will prepare chapati, red gulab jamun
and all sort of qormas and human tandoori

hey people, hide!

ode to toothbrush

Oh my toothbrush
you are all torn
looking like a bramble bush
but u never protest a morning

this mouth is as sinful as they are
as it is the weapon for poor
you dont know
what have i eaten at night
what have these teeth chewed in the dawn

even they hit me
this mouth never bleeds
but today it is bleeding
i know what would the doctors say
they would say my 'gum is weak
use a softer costlier brush'

oh if i throw you away
the ragpcikers will pick you
and the cobblers will use you
to polish the leather boots

I shall never throw you away
I shall love you
even if my lover departs in such cruel winter
I shall love you
we have survived together
this poverty, this history and this poetry

Momo poem inside INA Subway

suddenly i missed home
and my tongue missed the taste
so i walked down the subway
and had a plate of momos,
eight pieces of momo,
dipped well in the chilli paste
it gave me a certain feeling of home
but not the full one
that i felt the moment i stepped down from Bluehills
So i walked further
and saw on the wall
"Give me blood
I will give you freedom"
and i was satisfied
when i changed the word freedom into blood
and it said
"Give me freedom
I will give you blood, your blood"

Poem for Romeo Loitongbam

A winter night in delhi
swallowed two small gold flake cigarettes
while it brought no solution
for our lives in the middle of a crossroad.
We were caught by the night
with the philosophy of death and life.
many walked away siding us
many lived too worrying about routine insanity of life
about marriage, jobs and future
And here we were making stories
of walking all over the country
leaving foot prints in every nation with peace
Yes we are mad and they are sad to know it
but we will live our life the way we want
even with out a proper lab where you can study
Zinc Oxide or Romeo and Juliets :)

Losing You

I am losing u in the streets
where i found poetry 
covered by autumn leaves
under the sky of crazy November,
the month i died with you
in my poetry