Talking Guitar

Everytime I cough
My guitar that leans on my wall
next to my pillow,
makes a sound
that tells me;
"You have been coughing since November
It must be tuberculosis
dont kiss your lover"

To Venus

apples in your pocket
potatoes in mine
and the year about to fall off from its branch
drunk men in front of mother diary, dance
and we become grasshoppers
...hoping good for every smokers
some may term us as PEACE LOVER
but we are simply Life Lover :)

Ode to 2010

It is raining.
Lovely rain I must say.
Farewell Tears from the sky
as another year shall pass away
like an old man in his dying bed
remembering faces of his love ones

And you, my friends,
How dare you toss off your cocktails
at such time with joy and laughter?
Be pateint!
You can giggle
in the jingle jangle morning of 1st January.

To Her

For the heart you broke
i don't care
but for the pressure cooker handle you broke
i wont forgive you

Let me....

let this be the last with your name
let the memories drain down with my puke
let me not know the time through this wrist watch
let me think of her as faceless as beauty
Let this morning be gone amnesiac
Let the new year begins on a warm bed
with no wrikles on its bed sheet from last night
Let me be a working class poet
not someone who is so love sick
let me not drink again to cry and wake her up
from my sleeping mind just to curse
let me be the happy song for my own next song
let my tambourine crash like christmas carol
and shake my legs over a peg of life
let me fall in love once again with everything
Let me kiss all the happy dry lips of girls

Confession of a drunk Men

I was drunk
that's why i sang laughing
talking to the girls of dead brothers

I was drunk
in my torn jeans
that's why i sat down on the stair
inside the bus
that's why they laughed at me
like i was a beggar

I was drunk
that's why i lied
so they dropped me at the bus stop
at 6am on 26th December

I was drunk
so i leaned on the fog
getting away of the smoke
from that filthy mouth

I was drunk
so i hid the morning and its coldness
under my skull cap
and brought it home
and slept with it
till it turned into a lonely evening

I was drunk
and i was singing my senses
so they wanted to take me to Silchar
and i said “I want to go to bangladesh too”

I was drunk
that's why i forgot Jesus on Christmas
that's why i was friends of all the drunk men

I was drunk
but i didn't slip off the chair
but the lady in wollen cap
she thought i did it
and she got her forehead swollen

I was drunk
that's why i cried standing
inside the DTC bus
cursing you all for no reason

I was drunk
that's why i gave away music chords of my heart
free to everyone i knew
to everyone who was drunk

The Body

Carry it with tender and love
don't drag it, dont drop it.
while he was walking for home
you let him down
with your bullets, with your cruelty
at least show the body some respect
even if you failed to see him as human being
while he was alive .
Close his eyes, please.
He doesnt want to see this world anymore.

The Dreamer's Death

Death has been calling me up
as the height of insomnia is higher than ITO building
I even refuse poetry this time.
Earlier, like a gluttonous dog
I waited for poems while cooking
while shitting ,while making love
while protesting, while swallowing taste of love
Then poetry refused me.
Now I refuse them
Like i no longer believe in them
or in expressing my feelings
like my own fucked up generation.

I have told this little world
i have seen that
“i can be good like anyone else
I can build a castle like nation with my own sweats
Just let me breathe at my own will”
but they left me calling me a dreamer,
protester, loser, etc.

Here Im again
death raping me from back
thinking of how another night
i shall bear with nameless poems
that i would eventually trash away
like cigarrete butts inside the empty tea cup
Here Im again thinking of nothing
but death that they call suicide

Blurry scene came up while rolling and tossing
under my dusty blanket:
my late drunken neighbor stabbing his daughters
one after another
sometime it was me stabbed
and shivering in naked wth steamy opened body
upon a table with fables bleeding away
from my opened heart...
and the scissors slowly cut away the brightness
from my sight.

I was wrong to think
unnatural death comes only with bullets
but it comes too with insomnia
as cheap as my own poems

To cry for other is easy
(i have done it many times)
but to cry for yourself
you need blood to stream away from your wrist
you don't need tears
you need to rope your neck
and hang yourself like
the Rajasthani puppets hanging on my wall.
that would be a great piece of art.
Yes! my death should be an art piece to look at for others
my body shall decompose till tumites
And ants get inside the bones and suck away the bone marrows.
News of my death shall fly or run wild like brimming rivers
“Such a coward he was, how could he do that?”
my fellow poets must write odes to my death
my parents shall recieve my body in pine-wood coffin
with a live music band that can play “Vodoo Child”
my guitar must play blues on its own
my neighbor shall miss me while he makes tea
The book seller at New Friends Colony must wonder why i disappear suddenly
my land must mourn for me as i have mourned enough for it
my lover must cry like lovers in my song “North East Express”
my friends must be sleepless at least for a night
my homosexual friends must know i was not homophobic
my ghost must camp in Paris, like a hippy who lost his way, just to fulfill my dreams
my ghost must visit Ginsberg's grave and recite “Ginsberg, Akhu has given you all”
my ghost must find peace travelling in Japan,
writing real haiku cheering every glass of wine in the name of Basho
in snowy winters wearing kimonu
My ghost must rob the banks and spray money in the streets
my Ghost must wear my wrist watch and tell them
my songs must be sung by my friends Abung, Nila and Hero
whenever they drink in my remembrance...
“we don't need rules or laws or acts to live in peace”
“you don't need money to live your life, (call me a dreamer once again)”
“you got to be stubborn to be a dreamer”
“You don't need to be loved to know what is love”

In one of many sleepless nights
I needed lips to kiss
so i kiss Sylvia's tulip
that has been lying next to my bed for weeks
and her death find its way to me
So here Im
Fantasizing death.

Born to die: Boooooooo!

We were born to die
but why in the streets
why with the bullets

boo the armies
boo the bullets
boo the bombs

we were born to die
baby let me love you
before they take me away

boo away the hatred
boo away my drunkeness
boo away your sadness

we were born to die
but i dont wanna die under their boots

you were born to die
you wanna live till your skin withers
till your ears are deaf enuf
to miss your lover's whisper

like a flag after a storm

we were born to die
whether rich or poor
dont think twice
you can't be young forever

you can't write a song twice
but you can sing it hundred times
so while living such a life
protest hundred times
against the marching boots

Snatch freedom from the flying flags in air
make a human chain against the barbed wire

they said "dont dream anymore
You have lived long enough with your dream"

If this is dream
I better not cry for all the things i love
I better cry for the silent mountains
why should i waste my sweat
in my own dreams of waste

fuck your reality!
Im gonna pluck poetry from the sky
Im gonna sing my cries
like a lullaby to this world of yours
You sleep Baby sleep
sleep with your reality
let me dream with my arms wide opem
let me dream with my eyes wide open
days and nights
Let me dream with the smell of gunpowder

Carry On
Carry on

wrong winter

This time winter goes so wrong
like my own song
There are no warm hands
inside my pockets
Only the lifeless christmas stars
twinkling desperately to catch
the eyes, whose eyes i dont know.
But not mine for sure.


Pic: with Lousingba's Ema

I have never remembered you
like i remember you at this dawn
It has been almost a year
that you passed away
leaving us alone at this age of violence and injustice,

now you are right here in front of me
telling me those stories of our lives
i thought
how irrelavant those sweet childhood memories
were in my life of protest?
I even said often to my friends Life is too short for simple things
but now when i look back for home
it is you and your presence at my home
in those sunny morning of imphal
that i can feel.
i realise now in our land
all that we can share is love
and those sweet memories
I will give your parents the warmest hug i ever can
I will never forget you as long i live.

december eight /3.55 am

December comes
and i know u feel colder than any one
come my love drink my blood
it is luke warm.
all my blood for you

the girl, i gave my blood to,
has got married and settled in America
now it is all for you
fill your veins with it
Let me replace it with wine and your love
Let me walk the empty night roads of delhi
Let me write of wine and love only
like Ghalib

Once i sat next to Ghalib's statue in a summer evening
and the lovers, they read out his poetry
and you came to leave me alone

since the day i hate to see the rickshaw puller
and you popped up on the very plate of shawarma
and i gave up loving you

but tonite Im sleepless
as it is gettng colder and colder
hope you are lying in some one's arms to keep you warm
hope you are not sleepless like me

Thank You for all these sweet memories
I will cherish them till this body withers
and fall into the coffin
Thank you tomba!

Oh Sister! (to Irom Sharmila)

Oh Sister!
They dump you in Jawaharlal Nehru hospital
Because when Nehru discovered India
you were not born
and today you give a new meaning of this country
protesting calmly on the hospital bed,
Nose feeding back them 'how democratic India can be'

Oh Sister!
your silence is the marching song
against the marching soldiers

Oh Sister
They will crumble one day like rubbles
into your feet.
They will cry for peace someday before they die.
Let this world drown in your tears
Of ten years.