A Night's sketch with my Kaboklei

We started it all with whispers
at midnight under the blanket
like a mosquito singing Jana Gana Mana
we got louder and louder
like the whistling local trains at dawn.

Like a black and white movie in flashback
like Tarantino's Pulp Fiction
we jumped to shots
which we loved to talk about
Forexample, you said i brushed your breast with my arm
and i said you brushed your breast on my arms
but my cuban second hand jacket sealed away
the softness and mildness of that evening wind

“Is this love?
Is this “Like”?”-
My torn mosquito net sings everynight
I just nod to its rhythm

we walked away to the foothills
(hand in hand )
that joins with the paddy field
and sat on the divider
and you covered your head from the sun
with your shinny disco jacket
while i peeled the sweetest Nobap in Manipur

we shed our clothes and looked at ourselves
like no other animals have looked at themselves
and we convinced ourselves
we are as nature as a grain of paddy.
And we pollinate
You down, I up, as you wish
the wind stops, the world shuts up, as we wish

we wrote fables of our nipples
no history of blood
no hate from past
as if i have flushed them down to dirty yamuna river
and you whispered
“I wish you could do that ”

you, like a child in sleep,
like a blind witch,
murmur away our love
composing lines after lines
like an overdosed poet
quoting my silly behaviours
reminding how stupid i can be
when i m no longer a poet
When i have goonighted to the poet in Akhu
when i goodnight to you every night
with my dirty fingers over my poor naked cellphone

O Kaboklei!
The crab has find its part in Basho's haiku
The khudei has got its starch and wrinkle of our love
The ducks, Dylan has made them drunk in his songs
The fields have had our eggs and cream
Last night i saw you in the film robin hood
Galloping towards me with all your armour of love
I just missed to kiss you

O Kaboklei!
Where are our twelve children?
The Sun is gonna sink amidst the cloud of your wavy black hair
We shall 'goodnight' our children
before we send away them to all the districts as saints of love
we shall greet them “Happy Birthday”
As we give birth to love every day and night
Happy Birthday!

sweet rage

thoiba, stand in queue

get a litre a petrol

I already have got one litre of petrol

after standing four hours in queue

once you get it

you burn from Ukhrul

I will burn from Imphal

lets make ashes out of this land

keep the good ones on right side

keep the bad ones on left side

and burn the bad ones

burn the divide

burn the assembly hall once again

burn their play cards

burn burn burn

i need a new land where i can walk free

where i can ride my bike without driving licence

Ode to My Kaboklei

She wants to be a poet
to write me love sonnets
as she knows all i have is poetry
to offer to this world of misery

she held my hand took me to the lane
of the angry poet who searched for the sun
in a pool of blood that stream down
from the chest of his dead son

I held her wrist like she is mine
like a gentle man holding a glass of fine wine
and walked under that noisy evening sky
while the wind whispered “ this is not a goodbye”

Wake up! wake up!
She shakes my body
and makes me laugh away my nightmares
my borken heart, she stitches sharing the thread
she has on her left chest

Yet sometimes we pretend like strangers
and tell each other “we are going no where”
and next moment we say “It was a joke”
and we smile in bytes showing our face like frogs

we fall in love knowing we can't fall in love with each other
manytimes i feel we can be two helpless protagonists of one of GC Tongbra's plays
we live like dancers, we dance so much when we dance

Chewing Pan she roamed in the streets of Shillong
carrying her stitched heart as heavy as jackfruit
when I called her, she said “you taste like kangsoi”
and she giggled and my heart as wet as Cherrapunji


Shall i die tonite
for all the things I love?
It seems they have waved goodbye to me
this evening.
The paddy fields, they have harvested.
The song for her, I could not sing
The poetry I love, they hate

This night wind is singing out of tune
Like an air cooler of Indian Summer
I see no more soldiers in streets but dogs and wolves
I wanna go blind and deaf
I wish i can write this poetry better
I wish i can make you love all like i love you all