What have we not done?

What have we not done?
we had switched off our phones
I had banged my head on walls
I had cut my hands
You had not returned home for days
You had relations with others
i had too with my heart flying across
south India to east India

What have we not done in love?
wearing shorts in winter night
we smoked cigarettes in terrace
we walked into the bars, already drunken,
they rejected me for dirty toes and slippers
so we walked into the pebble streets
I wrote poems after poems
breaking the boundaries
between the politics and you

What have we not done?
I have never bought you a bouquet
You have bought me 'life of pi'
i plucked flowers for you from western ghats
I sent you a black n white xerox picture of Woody Guthrie
with his guitar with his famous line
"this machine kills fascist".
Waiting for your calls
i wrote many poems for street sweepers
looking out of window
that face Khirkee railway station

What have we not done?
we have protested against the system
You have read your papers many times
across this nation talking about resistance
I have read mine too twice or thrice
acting like a physicist
who cares for the growth of science
when humanity is declining.

What have we not done?
Yes! i forget, we have to make babies
Yes! we have to humiliate ourselves
in the streets of imphal in the name of marriage.
that's another protest rally
but for them against our desire
and we will be the effigies in feijom and potloi
ahhh I wish we had not thought of it

on such a day

On such a day like 26th January
she carries the country in her basket
wrapped adoringly with the tricolor cloth
and walks in the deserted street
On such a holiday some organisations call bandh
this time it was 15 outfits
the vegetables lay silent
the trees are dead to bored
the rickshaws are recharging in winter sun
She stops in the middle of the road
and whisper "i am letting you free"
she sobs and says "i have nothing to feed you anymore
you were left at my courtyard when the India Armies
 came to pick up my husband
as armies have a habit of leaving their foot marks
in the soil they have walked
and taking lives that belong to the soil.
So i named you India
and I need this basket now
 to decorate flowers for my dead husband"
And Slowly the puppy, India, comes out of her basket
and runs free on the street with its sloppy ears
but don't know how long India will run
On such a day, On such holiday
On such bandh, folks love to eat meat
folks love to eat dog meat.
Run! India! Run!

All India Radio: Jazz

Zzzzzzzz! Ssst! Zzzzzz!
1, 2 ,3, 4

This is all India Radio
Akhu Chingangbam here!

America is saving the world in Movies
while i love America only for the hippies
not for the atomic bombs
not for playboy magazine
not for Marilyn Monroe or James Dean
“I heard America singing”
but i heard America gang banging
It was the wail of Hendrix's guitar not Nixon's speech

“look at me this is my father's eyes
this is my mother's nose
this is the blood of my forefathers
that has spilled in every chapters of the books
my heart as red as tomato
has a place as vast as ocean for you,
my sweet love
let me love you like i love looking myself
in mirror”

my country my country
how long you gonna trade the bodies of your sons
for a piece of cloth
that can't save you from winter
that can't even be a diaper for the beggar's infant
mother! Is that me they are calling out?
The sirens are disturbing
I am not that deaf, i am not that dumb

"I sleep with Mother earth every night
Would you call me 'Oedipus'?"

I am homeless and i call myself
an internationalist,,
does it solve my problem?
Does it make me forget Manipur
can i now write a poem of Eiffel Tower
that i have never seen
other than shattering in movies America made?

They play B flat
in their nice flats
while i masturbate with poverty

And India fells on Safdar's Chair Chair Chair
from Himalaya
diverting from the route of holy Ganga
Yet Mandakini sang “Ram Teri Ganga Meli”

Nila said “We don't drink to become revolutionary”
we drink because such life is a good season to drink
we drink when we want to sing life with alcoholic tear

A Song to the Goddess of Ngari

Tonite the goddess of ngari pay a visit to me
as i have been deprived of her.
i thought it was my love with her long black hair in winter air
with the fragrance of her pillow we shared

so i sing to her;

O Ngari!
i write to you these words like a drunken mate
i will die if you leave me in this strange city
O ngari
I will fight for you with everyone in the world
I won't let any poet rhyme you with saree

O ngari
I can smell you miles away
"Miles to go before i eat"
O ngari
you work fine at places
where this country is the origin of maximum poetry.
O ngari
they say your smell is like that of dead ones in morgue
is it true? tell me it is not
Or is that why my fellow poets talk only of death?
O ngari
despite of our daily meeting at day and night
i never wrote you a song
don't abandon me
My love, she get pissed
as i keep on talking about you
when nights crawl into my stomach

My mother is arranging you for me
and you will come to me by morning Indigo flight
hope this human technology don't scare you
they scare me too more than bullet does

O ngari
come! be my beloved to night
the season's first bunch of yongchak has arrived
but without you they are all waste
this country has fed me
injustice and racial discrimination.
Now let me eat what i want

O ngari
O goddess of Ngari come to me
i am very hungry

come to me with no wings
the birds with their wings they bring nothing to me
freedom is theirs in the sky
above the ground it is my land crying
and the sky rains tear

O ngari
Looking back at my origin
I found you in Ootong
Now i dont know where do you belong
I just know your taste and the feelings of home
and the comfort you gave to my silly stomach

I was about to ask you
who are all these fake patriots
and lovers of this shithole
now i doubt you are one of them.
why are you acting so pricey
is that the traders?
or is that the highway blockades?
you know
we have nothing left in this valley
our culture has been sold out in big stages
our ideologies has been leaked away through the barrels   
our folk tales are not evolving anymore

tell me you are not one of them
tell me you bloom out of an ootong
from the bamboo groove in my backyard
don't lie to me
it is not a poetry
it is about all those years we have shared,
and the year you have shared with our forefathers.
Or are there any imprint left on you for the history you have witnessed
or you are like human who dies for no reason who left nothing on earth
except stories of genocide to make their descendant even worse

O Goddess of Ngari
I am singing you a song of our roots
not a song of a delicious cunt

Miss Orange

here comes miss orange
she does not blame
the government
every one lives to kill
when they say heal the hills
she lives in hut
dies in hug
she never gets from the land of riot
there she walks
revealing the truth of hypocrites
defying the motherly tits
for the stitches she wants for her town
when boys sing western song "down town train"
when no train or drain
 runs towards their land

"what changes you would make for a better world"
 they asked in the finest suit
that they borrowed from priests in the church

Innocent Wail

That dawn
that wail of that bullock cart was different
but mother said
 it was going to the field to harvest

As usual
In evening i waited for him
to have a ride on his cart
practising the peasants' slogan like yell "ar ti ti"
and remembering the lesson he taught me
"whip the left one if you want to turn left
 whip the right one if you want to turn right"

but he never returned
some said the bulls got away from the hook
and he lost his way back home
but no one lost their way back in their own hometown
Some said he ran away with the feudal lord's daughter

All sort of stories cooked up
when his family could trace only the lantern
with its wick all burnt.

But one day after many months
I met him on Ukhrul Road
He hold my hand and said smilingly
"Ar Ti Ti ! Turn back
 Go back home
I have few things to harvest
we are planning an Ambush"

and the next day
His body arrived in a truck
with hundreds of pamphlets
and in the evening
every thongal burnt a torch
and no one talked of him anymore
and never i heard the same wail from any bullock cart
it was the innocent wail of a soul
for wanting to die or live for something he valued


you flip each days lamenting
the hangovers of drunken politicians.

how is your womb tonite?
does the new year bring a sweet prick
inside you?

how is the sky above you with all the stars?
are the stars twinkling in such foggy nights?

Why are they combing you?
Are they looking for another Sanjit and Rabina?

Why are there no walls to keep you safe?
Why are there walls only for Armies and MLAs?

Still I am in love with you
Still I smell hope in your bloody streets
Still I feel the innocence of Imphal river
Still I don't sleep at nights thinking about you

O Midnight Writer by the Lake Shore

O midnight writer by the lake shore
flicker your cigarette write me a poem
the lovers are gone running like rabbits
becoming old losing the stupidity of youthful days

here is my word "rejection"
it may be yours too
as i see you sitting by the lake shore
selling poems with tearful eyes
to the silent nights before sunrise

O midnight writer by the lake shore
how much you earn a night
how many cigarettes you smoke
before it lights the sky
how cold is the wind
that comes from the city you reject?

(PS: This poem is to the Character (the Poet) in the movie "Before Sunrise")

Lets Make a Film

Lets make a film
bring a tripod
and spread its legs
to make it as firm
as mountains
it is all dark, right?
So wide the aperture
you need more light
you need to roll the tape
hey you! be in shape!
And you get ready
the second shot is yours

"Bang Bang Bang"
No one lives
they all die
Only a child left
crying by a bank of river

Cut! Cut!
You Fucking Cunt!
Do you know
how much i have wasted
I want the child to be shot
after the last drop of tear
from his eyes..
Ok you Pig head!
You got it right??
this must be the 2010th takes

Ok, Action!
"Bang bang Bang"

Yes! that's it
it is gonna be great movie
I need an editor now