then u came

when spring left
love left the town
and everything looked so sad
and i did not want to live
my heart ceased to beat

then u came
in the month of may
wearing two little ear rings
of heart shape
one was mine
one was yours


clouds came
and all the lamp posts
stood up in surprise


Clouds have their own stories
they dont care
whether Israel is killing Palestine
or America is sucking oil out of every where
or a little indian is crapping
out in an open field
reading the most important news of his time
from jagran...

they take forms of what they want
sometimes they are elephants
sometimes nothing
and i dont think they like aeroplane


she says "i hate rich man
and what all they do with their money..
can i be with you, Akhu?"
looking at my torn shoes,,
she just does not know i am stinking rich
i have seven blogs
i have a folk rock band
i just bought three pairs of thai undergarments
i just filled up the tank of my bike for 100 bahts
i own a 4gb pen drive that too golden color
i have one rock opera in my mind
i am rich !

lamp post

my pressure cooker obsession
has been replaced by my new obsession
of lamp posts

every where i go
i keep noticing lamp posts
they are like human beings of all kinds
thin, slim, thick, fat,etc
some look rich and shiny
some look poor, made out of woods
and bend like an old man

here in thailand
they look mostly rich
straight and tall
with huge bulbs hanging so bright
over the clean roads.
when it rains
they look wonderful
against the blue sky

some of them look seriously busy
sending out wires across the hills and cities

but back home in imphal
lamp posts are more lively
even if there are no power
or bulb in them..

Eney Sakhi, the meira paibi secretary
will ring or knock the post
if lovers are caught having sex in my locality
alarming every one that having sex is a crime

even when indian army invaded
my locality for combing operation
the famous Sakhi will ring the post
alarming there is unwanted trouble.

sometimes out of fun
we would ring the lamp post
and every one would come out
thinking it is the arrival
of the infamous Assam rifles
or some old man has been caught with a woman
near by bank of the Imphal river


my brand new moreh rice cooker
arrives in the capital
walking along Indo Myanmar border
passing through many political flags
of KNF, UNLF, NSCN, etc.
while boiling tuta-hua-basmati rice
in the heat of summer
it says "Hey Akhu! i dont like this 'Look East Policy'
to me it rhymes with 'kill east policy'
and i also dont like the way you stare at me
when you are hungry"

im from imphal

met an old man
he cried "i ran from Bihar
to Bangladesh during partition
then they called me pakistani

then i hitch hiked all the way
to Pakistan
just for them to call me refugee
now i am here with no country to call mine"

he asked me what is your story
i said i am from Imphal

met a widow from Orissa
she cried "they killed him
inside the Church
for he served the lord all these years"

met a man from Chattisgarh
he cried "i had a home in Lalgarh
they burnt it down
raped my wife, killed the cattle"

they asked me what is your story
i said i am from Imphal

she had a bad day

my lover had a bad day
she was chased by two bees
and a leaf felt in her lemon tea
she burnt her tongues on hot momos
the fish she had at kerala store was stale
so she cursed the store
but she said she downloaded Glee
and the two teachers finally had sex

what has she been not?

oh what has she been not?
she has been a lover
she has been an artist
she has been a daddy's daughter

she says she hates rich men
and what they do with their money
she asks "can i be with you? "
looking at my torn shoes
but i own so many unpublished poems
and some many songs in my lips

she is an artist
she smokes weed
she wears peace in her shirt
she says this world needs radical art
she clicks her own pictures
and puts up an exhibition
all the uncles love it

 she sings out louder that Reed
"i wanna be black"
she owns the whole collection of William Blake
she is an artist

Now she wanna farm potatoes
and tomatoes
Now she wanna grow papaya
next to the church that sings hallelujah

She is an artist
she is a farmer
she is a peace lover
she is a smoker

Look at Us

look at us
how good we are with candles
in this scorching Indian summer
when they are so good with everything
rewriting and writing and erasing.

Blow off the candles
embrace the night.
they don't see us all these years.
we can hit them wherever we want

little high little lost i am

I am little high
and want to wear a necktie
and walk like a flamboyant guy
under this evening sky

come smell me
i smell better than these dead trees
also u can ask me
of all the gods of Jejuri

i just meet Arun Kolatkar
he follows me in buses and cars
he becomes a travelling poem for me
he buzzes in my ears like bees

I dont know Thai
and when i am little high,
at people i smile a lot
like a ball pen seller at ring road

I have 27 songs in my mind
and 27 bahts in my pocket
but it is all fine
when i am high, nothing is heavy except bullets

on my way back from Bangkok
to Phitsanulok
that mean bus driver forgot me
separating me and gods of Jejuri

but i found them back
even if they were as yellow as roadside Buddhas.
All these Indian Gods met here in Thailand
and i am their Indian who doesn't look like Indian

this cheap vodka is doing no good to me
it helps me write only cheap poetry
i thought great poetry would come tearing down the walls
like those truckloads of Indian Armies in Imphal.

It is 3 am
and i am acting drunk
i can't rhyme anymore
i can't rhyme Ukulele with PLA

It is 3.10 am
the lizard is croaking like frog
I am done now
let me stop

abyss of love

They are busy watching the Indo-Pakistan match
and the Govt is busy stealing,
Mamta didi too is busy looking out for her own cartoons
The revolutionaries too are busy buying Reebok sneakers
it is only you and me left in the street
Lets fall again once into that abyss of love


now the song sings me
while the goddess of insomnia whistles
playing ukulele out of tune
and i am ignoring them
acting busy trimming my moustache
when there is nothing left to trim

why haste

Oh Soldiers!
Slow down slow down
be cool
every one will get to die
including you...
no hurry


We dont know
that each of us is a living proverb
and almost all the proverbs say
"dont try to write or bring a new one
in this mean world"
but we really dont listen to it