Saturday morning
I was little drunk
thats why i was in love
with all the girls

Sunday morning
I got hang over
and was sad about everything
under the sun

Monday morning
I was so jobless
everyone left wearing yellow tie
for their jobs

Tuesday morning
I heard the news in television
three fucking months blockade..
i kept myself calm with a cigarrette

wednesday morning
I was couging
bought myself a cough syrup
and put myself to sleep whole day

thursday morning
I was broke
not a penny in my pocket
not even a song of bullet in my mind

friday morning
my frens called it is weekend
i said i have only one liver
set me free

they say it is war on people

My love!
I am stuck at airport
I am too tired 0
I got hangover from last nite
they say “it is war on people”
far away back home
lets go hide somewhere
i hate to be in cities
i hate to go back home
they say “it is war on people”
far away back home

i dont wanna sing anyore
my shoulder got marks of my guitar strap
my mouth bled last night while playing harmonica
may be it is the barbed wire in my song that cut me
I am tired of being drunk on stage
I dont care anymore of anything
I even didn't brush my teeth this morning
they say “it is war on people”
far away back home
whats the use of teeth against the war
wahts the use of songs against the war
bullet got no eyes or ears

Oh darling
I am stuck at airport
I am too tired to even write this
cuddle me soon
today I belong to that crowd of sad people
and they say ”it is war on people”
far away back home

On meeting Sudhir Naoroibam at Keishampat Junction

Everything about those three years
popped up today at Keishampat Junction
when I saw him among the maddening crowd

I once was obsessed
with Manipuri Literature
Rajesh Book store was my library,,
from house to house i walked
looking for poets and writers

today again when i saw that writer
i was reminded of many things,
If you ever read Pacha Meitei
you would know every bit of Imphal
has so much to do with your life.
to me it was Keishampat Junction today

He smiled at me
and asked "Have you printed the books?"
I had no answer to that
instead I bought him a pan
and we talked for a minute or two.
But i wanted to ask him
about his upcoming books of short stories
I wanted to know  things
about Ibopishak
I wanted to ask "is he still thinking
fucking is a business to mind?
Is it worth dying with an India Bullet?"
what about Yumlembam Ibomcha?
Is he as angry as in 1974?
recently i read one of his poems
he seemed sober
and surrendered to his wife's demand
what about Shri Biren?
does he still read that ballad
of him not leaving Manipur at this time of madness?

i did ask nothing to him
instead i rode back my bike
remembering Pacha Meitei
and his story
"kali mai ma mangda laibak katpasu kattabasu yaowi"

Talking Automobiles

I hear the automobiles talking
deep in the night
the car says "i hate to be so useless like this
i dont get to see the chicks
and boast around with my loud whistle"
... the bike says "they dont even take us out for a walk
so what if there are no petrol"
the truck says "fuck you both! i am resting finally..
i have been so tired working my dicks off..
all they do with me is carry mud and sand
for MLA's and thikadar's..
they dont even play neil young's "cow girl in the sand"
,,good that there are no diesel"
The bicycle says "i was always a Marxist and i am and will remain so
goodnight all...i need to leak on the highway"

Post Sunday Bomb Blast

there was a bomb blast
and she cursed the bombers
for spoiling her sunday
she believed it was a Chinese grenade

she just got back
after meeting the victims
we sat in the hotel
we heard the wedding drums banging
she was not bothered
instead she looked at her toes
and said "today i had to speak English a lot"
i listened to her observing everything
that i had missed last autumn
she said she has two bicycles
and i can take one
i complaint about the tea
as it tasted left over

we walked along
the crowded part of tidim road
we walked few inches away from each other
she took me to the lane
the dog made her closer to me
then we walked holding hands
blaming the dog for it

the moon looked pale behind the cloud
and lifeless unlike my beating heart
we walked towards the hotel again
and had another round of tea
and we walked walked till her gate
nothing much to talk
then i saw the bougainvillea flowers
which once was a marker for my heart
we shook hands
and said "bye"

and i wanted to remember the evening
whole of my life
that's why i write this now for me and her

I need a fucking Bicycle

I need a fucking bicycle
not a country or this valley
I need a bicycle with a carrier
to carry my lover

I am too an anti social
to join that long queue for petrol
and I am too fucking poor
to spend 200 bucks on it

I am too an anti national
to use the currency to buy me a bicycle
some one please let me borrow a bicycle
my lover says she will fast if i dont show up

I need a bicycle with a ringing bell
people are cow and buffalo here
they are deaf, they are blind
they think they have a country and a government


it's drizzling in Imphal
beating the fallen and forgotten leaves of autumn
to grow once again on the trees
where they once hung the red stars
against the back drop of crimson sky..
oh! what a lie it was....

To my little sister

Your wooden guitar sadly leans against the wall
with one string broken
the thermomemeter silently dips
in a glass of cold water
and this piece of wet cloth is as helpless as me
we both fail to cool down your body temperature

I bought you cucumber
and boiled it with sugar
you didn't even touch them
I cut you the apples
just like in the fable
you didn't even look at them

I try to distract you from your panting
telling the story of the housewife
who stays opposite to our balcony
It is 4 am
still she is doing her dishes
when does she ever go to sleep
before we know she will be awake again
with her three naked children
running around with the broom.
you know,
yesterday morning the cat didn't even spill the garbage
the cat too knows you are not well.

you find your hands folded well above your chest
and speaks slowly from your dry lips
“ I am surprised to find my hands folded like this
this is how they lay dead men in coffins in movies..
I am dying for sure”

I laugh and remind you how you always wanted to die
and joke “but those are the way
people lay dead in hollywood flicks..
I am sure you gonna have a hollywood death”
then you stretch out your hand
to make me feel how hot it is
i try to rub off the heat with the wet cloth
but in vain
Oh sister, it is this little fever in you
that makes me cry at this dawn.

There is nothing in my mind now
except this worry and love
i have for you, my little sister..
i don't even care of my kingdom of scarcity
where potatoes are gold
where onions are silver
where people are happier than ever
where death walks tired on the deserted highway
trying to take a nap in some corner..

my thing

My thing in the morning
Stands up for what it believes in
unlike me and my friends
But it doesn't stand
against the goverment
not for the revolution
Not for America