street Poet

sometimes

2012-02-10T23:47:00.000-08:00

sometimes I am
a drowsy walking bottle of cough syrup
blame the holy family doctor
he even said i should not sing for six months
till i heal my throat and stop coughing..
but i have so much to shout
so much to protest

juliet

2012-02-10T23:28:00.000-08:00

Hey Juliet
you got no romeo around
everyone in town hates your black gown
what makes you think you are a star
everyone is busy fighting the war
...
you lift your skirt
walk like a princess in dirt.
open your eyes it is your lover's blood
in the streets, in the rivers, in the mountains
everyone is busy, they dont care how you look

you say you love sylvia plath
as you hate your daddy and his pets
but u have never loved anyone, you know that
you speak good english, you love america
and you are busy trying to reach california

you polish your nails with all the colors
you are counting number of widows for your books
they call you “woman of the year”
for you say this world has become Hitler's gas chamber
and at the mirror you smile like you are sweet sixteen

you listen to Lennon
and say you dont believe in Nationalism
and you sing in the temple for your religion.
playing with your long black hair
you tell the fools you are writing a long essay

when someone is getting better than you
you say you raise your daughter alone
when someone is praising you
you say you are just trying to make this land right
will you ever stop being hypocrite?

You love to dine with suited and booted men
but you say it is an important appointment
and you hate their wives for they are fools and rich
and you write “this land is beyond redemption”.
will you ever stop being hypocrite, Juliet?

laziness lays coins

2012-02-10T23:23:00.002-08:00

changed my bed sheet
and found so many coins.
i think i lay coins
when i am lazy

&@&@&@

2012-02-10T23:21:00.001-08:00

Do not blame me for my exaggeration

my poetry demand it

like every oppressed land demands a revolution

Nothing is right

2012-01-21T06:46:00.000-08:00

Nothing is right
I cough like i am eighty

she got nice fingers
every time i cough
she would stare at me
like I am a cancer patient
she would offer me a glass of water
when i want is her love

Nothing is right
I am on a plane flying back home
i walk out of the plane as it lands
She says "Thank you" with a smile
I say "you got lovely fingers" coughing

They say they are not lover

2012-01-21T06:40:00.000-08:00

I dont know
what all they do inside the room
locked up whole day
they say they are not lovers
they cook together
i hear them through my kitchen
talking about pressure cooker

I dont know
what all they do inside the room
they come out with wrinkles on their shirts
they never seem to have combed their hairs
they say they are not lover.

These Rats

2012-01-21T06:35:00.001-08:00

the rats cry me a river
biting my old cassette player
as they pity me
when they see me
married to my blanket

through out the winter in bed
O how i hate these rats
I am going to pet a cat

I just heard him

2012-01-20T06:57:00.000-08:00

I just overheard a rickshaw puller telling his wife "dont worry darling, this world is run by fools calling themselves politicians, doctors, engineers, professors, artistes, etc. and they are sleepless ,,u know..,,but we sleep our nights calm with dreams...may be we have sweated so much,,,still we sleep well...lets make love tonite ,,,lets make sure our babies dont become one of them..."

Confession of a Liver

2012-01-20T06:08:00.000-08:00

Dont blame me for all the drinks
Dont blame me for being so drunk
It is my fucking Liver
He is so suicidal unlike me
who has been promised by my lover
a bright future with lots of money
and babies

when i am into my senses
I heard my liver scolding me
"Akhu, why do u wanna live so long
U have lived enuf
and this is a fucked world
U cant change it
all U love is sleeping
all U love is dreaming
forget ur dead farmers
many will die ...beleive me
they are all indians

I tell u again this is a fucked world
u dont even have to read the newspapers
u dont even believe in God to carry on
with all the beliefs and lies

tell ur lover
not to waste money buying you ur undergarments
u dont need them at all still
Tell ur lover
not to waste money buying books for you
books wont do anything good to you
they will make u sleepless
stop reading latin poetry
stop everything, it is pointless
just drink. smoke a lot
nothing much left to do
stop blogging
stop writing bad poetry
ur english sucks
ur manipuri poems, no one cares..
stop singing
stop crying
stop worrying
stop abusing ur frens
just ask urself
u love drinking..

I know u dont wanna sleep
with women anymore
u r not even virgin to wait
for the right woman

I am a liver and reddish brown in colors
like any great revolution
yet i wanna be white
like dead children in ghost movies
I am protected by ur rib cage
yet I am sucidal
I am rubbery, i can take shapes
yet i am suicidal

this country is not gonna do anything good for u
what makes u wanna live
drink for me
make me wet
and put a fucking big full stop in your life
Akhu! dont be stupid
Drink everyday
Everyone is a liar
except me

dont worry for ur parents
they will make it,,
dont worry for ur lover
she will find a better person
with a better liver""

Busy Cooking

2012-01-20T05:23:00.000-08:00

I am busy cooking
I shud not be fucking disturbed
becos I am not trying to change your world

Finance Me

2012-01-20T05:19:00.001-08:00

Finance me, Ill sing for you
just like you are a Vietnam war returned Hero
even if there is no war

O my liver

2012-01-18T06:57:00.001-08:00

Oh my Liver!
My lover is crying a river
for you
for the damage done to you
by all these Sekmai and Anro booze

an alcoholic liar

2012-01-18T06:55:00.001-08:00

Do not believe what the science books say about nights
The truth is I gave the night Sun away
in one drunken night to my lover
along with my soul,
she ran away with the Sun refusing my soul.
.Since then you have nights
Since then my soul rhymes with alcohol

without poetry

2012-01-18T06:54:00.000-08:00

Without Poetry
All i have is poverty
and also I am ugly

I will walk away

2012-01-18T06:53:00.001-08:00

Some day soon I will walk away

I am done here

this world is not mine

this country is not mine

this love is not mine

this poetry is not mine

this music is not mine

Someday I will walk away

I will name all the dogs in the streets

and kill them eat them one by one

this is what this world do to us

they give you names

and kill you, electrocute you

shoot you, rape you, hit you.

Someday i will walk away

i forgot what i promised to my parents

i dont remember names of my friends

i dont remember my way back home

i dont care for what they die for

death is over hyped

Someday i will walk away

i am not ready to marry any widows

I am not a good man

I am neither sad nor wet with sweat

someday i will burn this town

someday i will kill them all

burn them all along with chillies

someday i will walk away

i dont know where

i dont know when

but i will walk away with out poetry in my head

I will walk away empty

I will walk away dead

I will walk away with alocohol in my veins

I will walk away

It was love

2012-01-15T22:36:00.001-08:00

For me it was all for love

For her it was a daily routine

I dont know who is Laishram Kala

but his two sons were beaten up by police men

she said

“you know! mistaken Identity!”

I rode her to Kwakeithel Kongjengbam leikai

she carelessly sat on my Honda CD 100

unlike other flamboyant girls

who will refuse my bike

unlike other lovers who often say

to each other “I love you”

we dont say any thing

we just say it thru our fingers

with our blocked noses at nights

seperated by miles and miles

Seperated by many of her patients

and buildings and sleeping beauties

Her breast touched my back

i could feel it through my jacket

we found Laishram Kala's place

she said “how will u leave me here alone?”

I knew i would wait for her

She went and started a conversation

leaving her rucksack with me

i saw her noting down things

talking to the victims

and i found myself noting down all the things

we have had in past many months in my mind.

I met her when i was alcoholic

We are being seperated by lovers

We are being seperated by Imphal and Delhi

We are the victims of ourselves

We cried to each other

we tried to act strong to each other

we acted like we were fine many times

but we both knew we want each other

She walked towards me with a lady

i though she was done

then she showed her two sweet fingers to me

meaning she would take two more minutes..

my waiting continues

i looked around not for her .

i saw the yellow mustard flowers blooming

against the barbed wires

I saw two little bees humming

may be they were teasing me for my wait

I saw a black puppy smelling its own arse

i saw a pond full of water hyacinth ...

There she came out

and we headed back

wish i could tell her I enjoyed waiting for her

and I will enjoy it whole of my life

I will love to write whole of my life for her

such lousy poems

Sometimes she said “I love all your poems

I love them better when they are about me ”

She said them all with a giggle

To me the giggle was her smile

ah our telephonic love conversation

at such night does nothing good to me and her

I know she must have been staring at the emptiness

inside her mosquito net just like I do

just to write this poem.

when she speaks with her nose blocked

I wish my hands could reach her

i wish i could smell her skin

and whisper in her ears “what went wrong

that i dont have you now in my arms”

Fuck you Imphal

2012-01-12T03:12:00.001-08:00

Imphal, I know

you have never this alive.

All your folks are merry making

your heart beats with all the bomb blasts in joy

Your sky always looks blue

Your poets always love you

Like Thanil

of Pacha's Imphal and Its Weather Report.

Flags of your political parties

wave in joy in your dusty gunpowdery air

But I tell you now

standing upon your heart with my leather boots

Fuck You Imphal

Fuck your people

Fuck their campaigns

Fuck their cries for justice

Fuck them all

Fuck the NGOs

Fuck the police men

Fuck the 28 Assam Rifles in MU

Fuck all the professors

Fuck your Wakching rain

Fuck your surrounding hills

Fuck your fuck

Fuck you before you bleed again

on BT Road

Fuck you before another 18^th june comes

Fuck you before another Sharmila comes

Fuck you before another Chitaranjan burns himself on Tidim Road

Fuck you your merry making drunken fools

Fuck you your corrupt politicians with their corrupt wives

Fuck you for your forgetfullness

She loves America

2012-01-09T10:08:00.003-08:00

She loves America

She introduced Ginsberg to me

when i was a little boy

and I learn to hate America from Ginsberg..

The other day

I saw her with America

and now i know why she left me

so proudly and honestly

she said dont cry in front of me Akhu

i hate to see you cry

and drink less, change your trouser

keep writing poems for all the girls

She loves to wear fine dresses

i saw her in her finest coat with America

sporting a french cut

standing at copernicus marg

But never she has heard of Nicanor Parra

and his lines “USA

Where Liberty is a statue”

oh I am little jealous

I am little jealous

as in my hometown

Revolution is a tall building

and I am not America

a sad man in bed

2012-01-09T10:05:00.000-08:00

I drink too much' i say to myself
every morning before i wake up
but i have nothing to sing
I am a sad man in my bed,
abusing the rats
listening to Blind Pilot.

I give blood, they give me orange juice
i give poetry, they give me weather report
they say “dont go out
it is a sad cold winter day
with teary eyes blinded by fogs.
cook something good
do u still have spring onion?
boil some cauliflower with peas and tomatoes
don't worry for your empire
winter will take care of it
with its coldness
no corpse will get spoilt

do something good for urself
trim your moustache
you have been eating with it
stop singing
“Why dont u just die
why dont u just stop living?
What is the point in life?”

you are a patient
your pillows know it all
you forget the name of the city
dont go out dont walk away
no matter how much a man walk
he will die with his body
not with the names of the roads
there is nothing wrong with the city
nothing right about the city
it is you!
It is your sleep that walks away
you are a dead man in disguise
there is no music left in you
you have had them all played many times
when you hated lovers
when you failed to be one

just learn to sleep
dont walk away “

love is older than your grandfather

2012-01-09T09:06:00.001-08:00

Love is older than your grandfather

dont act like you have never heard of it

dont act like it is new to you

Love is older than your folks

when i say i love you

respect it, dont just deny it

still a mess

2011-12-31T11:27:00.001-08:00

I am just little fucked up
but it is ok
I am just a clown in december
I dance for the lovers
in their love nest
... i sing for the drunks
getting more drunk than any of them

5 am in chilly december morning
i walk home all the way
scrolling down the names in fone
to find anyone who deserves my wish
for the coming new year.

People watch me and laugh
Dogs feel sad for me and howl for me
from the garbage
i see many christmas stars hanging
but the revolutions at home
will outdo the number

No water to drink
instead so many baby mouses in my room
I am a mess
i call my mother to feel like a son
but that does not work
she complains of water scarcity in Imphal
I listen to “I wanna be black”
but all i wanna become is rich and slim
I write poetry on newspaper
out of my joblessness
I am bored of my guitar too

wake up at 1.30 pm
i am still a mess

I and my country are like husband and wife

2011-12-29T11:21:00.001-08:00

I and my country are like husband and wife

But I don’t know who the wife is

Or who the husband is

But it really doesn't matter as i think of myself

As a feminist whether you like it or not

And there was no way I could beat or exploit my country

Instead it makes me taste its blood and sweat

Through many peasants and disappeared Kashmiris and Manipuris

Through many who sing “I had a life in Lalgarh

I had a wife in Chattisgarh”

Long ago, me as a poetry maniac,

Wrote a long poem about me being in 69 position

With my country, it fed me its blood

I didn't know of it till the day I saw those carved stones

at Khajuraho

Now here is a moment to leave my country

But I love it so much, as much as I love the poem

“I wanted to be killed by an Indian bullet” by Ibopsihak

I may come back very soon

I protest for my living

Without my country how will I live.

Without my country I will be poetry-less

I will be protest-less

And I will be so jobless

My country is my poetry

My country is my poverty

I may be its wife who gets fucked only when it is doped

smacking gun powder and blood as lubricant.

Once it came wearing a pair of leather boots

In the streets of Imphal

And made me lie down in front of Kangla gate

And I was sexed in broad day light

I saw many TG school girls too bleeding

It was the time Netaji got killed.

Since I have been married as a minor

To my country and its atrocities

And now I am deeply in love with it

It is so beautiful with its cruelty and brutality

Me and my lover, my mistress, would talk behind it

My mistress would say, “It is snowing in my hometown,

Darling, how do you imagine your hometown in this beautiful winter”

I would say, “May be a dead body is lying somewhere in a field covered with dew drops”

She would say ,“Aww, you are lucky, it is just snow fall in my town but you’ve got human body falling in your home town”

We talk a lot of my country

As we are scared of it

As it owns both of us...

Chew

2011-12-22T07:20:00.001-08:00

the red stain in my teeth is the proof
that I have been to Imphal
when they killed the innocent father and son
as i chewed lotsa paan helplessly
when all i wanted to chew was their bullets

week

2011-11-23T06:09:00.001-08:00

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

2011-11-21T08:28:00.001-08:00

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

2011-11-16T12:53:00.001-08:00

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

2011-11-07T08:07:00.000-08:00

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

2011-11-07T07:23:00.000-08:00

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

2011-11-07T05:31:00.002-08:00

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

Imphal

2011-11-07T05:31:00.000-08:00

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

2011-11-07T05:30:00.001-08:00

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

2011-11-07T05:28:00.003-08:00

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

Oh the Mountains

2011-10-28T10:10:00.000-07:00

Oh the Mountains
they have lived so long
They have witnessed so much
But never have spoken a word

But me, lived three decades
and have spoken too much
have cried so much
have loved so much

Oh What a fool I am!
or do the mountains forget to grow old?

They can't stop us

2011-10-28T10:06:00.001-07:00

So what if the moon looks so fake tonite
we are for real
you can reach my hands with yours
i can reach your lips with mine
we fly kisses against the aeroplane
... we catch cold and cough it out
sipping lemon tea, talking of puppies
we will talk of death as long as we want
we will undress this country as naked as we want
with M.F. Hussain's brush,,
They can't stop us

listening to her

2011-10-22T12:01:00.000-07:00

It is autumn
and everything falls
my hair too
but something lifts me up
every evening
listening to her
how she is so weak
got beaten up
by her younger sister
she needed a shower
for all the winter to come
so she skips her dinner
and ask me to courier
my melody to the one
with the words of revolution

yes she is funny
but she says i am the first one to say so
and i proudly agree
and say "i am a good observer"
and i kno i wud be dreaming again
of everyhting we talked

She got ugly toes

2011-10-02T12:00:00.000-07:00

for months i was blocked
i could not think of a line
even when i know autumn is right here
even when i rallied starving
those streets of jantar mantar
but ur toes just showed me the way

you got ugly toes dear girl
i know ur daddy is rich
u have a good face and wears a nice smile
but no, ur toes are ugly
I believe in toes
if they are ugly
the person is ugly inside
and u got ugly toes
dont be friend with me
we better remain foe
but i got beautiful toes

I smoked all the weeds of Bombay

2011-09-18T14:53:00.001-07:00

All the weeds of bombay
I smoked in two days
and headed for Airport
and went to the book shop

They all write stories of Slums
No thing about the sweetness of chewing gum
The magazines are about MBAs and USA
and those lousy long essays

At the airport Television
i saw her all smiling with a teddy bear
like she has brought home a revolution
yes I was smiling too and felt it's been years

then I took off, i was an aeroplane
saw the city as a birthday cake
with so many candles,
yes this would be the cake of my eightieth birthday
I saw the moon being put atop a steel pole
who did that?

i though i was gonna crash above the sea
my flesh would be eaten by sea fish

i remembered my friend Leichil
who is obsessed with Time Machine
He asked me to listen to Robot music
and our kids would love them
we agreed the music never stops
On the spring field, we grew as poppy flowers
the bees sucked us
the butterflies sprinkle their colors
we peed in rain
we cried upon grasses

we saw many clean rooms
with polished leather shoes
with oiled hair people
loving their lives planning for time to come

and the local train arrived
and we were aeroplane inside the train
my lover called me
as i flew over her hut
she said "peacocks are making out"

again we choke

2011-08-19T03:23:00.000-07:00

Again we choke
this time for the Sardar Hills

last time it was for something
im not remembering anything
as i am choking dying

i see the potatoes rolling
up and down
in the hills and valley
boasting around for its price

I see some of the people
worrying bout Anna's fast
when the highways
have been blocked
reminding them
they are not part of this country

let me buy a bowl of rice
whenever i want at the right price
before i die

Accept me with all my blood
and history if you want me
as your country man

dont tell me Im not choking
when you fast not for me

Economics

2011-08-19T00:44:00.000-07:00

you buy cars
you build houses
why? why?
look at that pull-cart puller
at day time he sells vegetables on it
at night he sleeps on it
under the moonlight

haven't you learnt
anything about Economics?

lost my big heart

2011-08-19T00:37:00.001-07:00

to worry
about
all the people
i know
i thought
i had a big heart
But that little girl
with the tiny eyes
at Dhanaulti
she took away
my big heart
squeezing herself
inside
that very
conjested Tata Sumo.
and i came
back to this city
with no heart
No wonder,
I hate you all now

dont you dream of me

2011-08-19T00:36:00.001-07:00

dont you dream of me?
I often dream of you
with a thin and rich handsome man
you two read each other your atm bills
like poetry we read together
in many sleepless nights

if your dream of me
please be it the ones of making love with you
i miss your body
I miss the touch of your golden chain on my chest
I miss you

Even in dreams
i fail to make love with you

in between

2011-08-11T10:13:00.001-07:00

Between you and me
there are fifteen odd states
in this country dying
of poverty
killing each other for land and a bread loaf
and how can you just only see me and
tell me "you are the only one i love"

between you and me
there are thousands of automobiles and trains
mountains and rivers..
how can you still smell me and tell me
im lying when i say i dont love you

between you and me
there are hundred of handsome
and richer men who write correct English
who always carry condoms in their wallet
who look up the sky when they talk
even about small things like napkins
making every moment filmy
dont you love filmy moment?

between you and me
there are good poetry bad poetry
but none of them are of you or me
they are of old lovers
who died holding their hands
when they became eighty
but not for you and me
who believe not in love
but who love love

do not die my children

2011-08-11T10:11:00.001-07:00

Do not die my children

on your way back home from school

this is a valley of corpses already

run by devils with guns

they preach your death in their propaganda

their politics is to kill you if you are innocent

Do not die my children

on your way back home from school

when you grow up

do not vote for this government

do not let this war mongers swim in your pond

they all love to drink your blood

for her

2011-08-11T09:36:00.003-07:00

i heard of you falling in love
as u talk to me only when you fall in love
with some one else

but today it seems
no lovers of yours write you poems
such lousy poems

may be you are gone long ago
but you are stuck in my poems
dont blame me for this

we may not say hello
but if you find a poem somewhere:D
talking of yellow, thats for you from me

Choose one

2011-08-11T00:33:00.001-07:00

all I need is a matchstick

but i have to choose

which one to light;

this university

or this last cigarette

i know too many of them

2011-08-11T00:31:00.001-07:00

I know too many rebels

who write long letters to the Prime Minister

when even love letters are not working

and I have got a problem with them

I know too many poets

who say they just write like that

but think they are the best

and i have got problem with them too

I know too many fathers

who say their sons will save this land

when they know it is not gonna happen

and i have got a problem with them too

I know too many lovers

who promise summer in winter

just before copulation

and i do that too, so no problem

As i grow older

2011-08-11T00:30:00.001-07:00

As i grow older

i lose many friends

some of them through my punch

some of them through my politics

some of them through my poems

Im now left with very few

as i grow older

i will lose them all

and i will find myself alone

on my dying bed someday

they call me an activist

2011-07-23T00:03:00.001-07:00

Most of my nights i am drunk

most of the my days i am asleep

and they call me an activist..

Now

I am not surprised

Obama got nobel peace prize

the economist

2011-07-23T00:02:00.001-07:00

The economist is a good economist

he has a good looking daughter

with well combed hair

sometimes they are oiled too

he writes weekly in the Newspaper

except that i stop reading it

as news of raping prostitutes

have been reduced

He is a good fren of armies

he listens to them carefully

and never forgets to ask for Jack Daniels

He is a good economist

He listen to them say

“your state needs more BSF ”

He shakes hands with them

He makes fren with revolutionary too

He is a good economist

He knows both the sides

He writes good english

He earns good money

He manages seminars in the University,

about the State being freed from Militarization,

where there is an Army Camp

He sees students among armies everyday

Highway 39, 37 is his topic of writing

Sometimes he praised the Cheif Minister

saying there had never been anyone like the current one

Never forgetting how to become VC of the University

Some people were born artists

2011-07-23T00:01:00.001-07:00

Some people were born artists

in rich family

they buy expensive cameras

and take pictures of Children in Slums

and exhibit in galleries...

and the critics say “Mumbai , Delh, has been exposed

thru shutter speed of blah blah blah”

i always wanted to be an artist

She wears one

2011-07-23T00:00:00.001-07:00

She is a feminist

with big breasts

we have poetry reading together

once a month in her University

when she reads hers

she uses her hands

She performs poetry

Her breasts hang like ripe mangoes

that once i plucked in my neighbor's garden

she being a feminist

i wonder does she wear bras or not?...

but looking at her breasts

i convince myself she doesnt wear one

cos i know when they hang they really hang

No difference between fruit and breast

Gravity works the same everywhere on everything

rain

2011-07-22T23:59:00.003-07:00

God is likely to piss over us

for what i said

about killing him

with a broken bottle of beer

No one of you

shudn't walk out

from ur houses

i take the blame

it is all for me

I will face it..

i will gulp it down

like whiskey nights

feeling like orgasm

2011-07-22T23:58:00.003-07:00

while sitting

on the stair

cursing this city

for its weather

Suddenly u feel

a cool breeze

aaaaaaaaahhhhh!

it is like

one of those

instant orgasm

inside the bus

seeing

a middle aged woman's

small angled breasts

No one is inviting me

2011-07-22T23:58:00.001-07:00

No one is talking to me about poetry

have they all really become poets?

No one is asking me about my ex lover

Have they known the truth?

No one is inviting me to protest events

have they stopped protesting at all?

No one is inviting me to dinner or lunch or party

have they seen me drinking like fish thos free drinks?

No one is talking about AFSPA

Does it mean ANIMALS FUCK SOME PEOPLE ALSO?

No one is talking about Manipuri Literature

Have they all been bought by Sanjay Hajarika?

No one is talking about teen sex

were they all born losing their virginities?

No one is talking of Art

Have they stopped calling their fart art?

No professor is calling me

Have they known I flirt with their wives?

nice neighbor

2011-07-22T23:57:00.001-07:00

Life without sugar in kitchen

is not bitter at all

if u have a nice neighbour..

An appointment with the doctor

2011-07-22T23:56:00.005-07:00

“your report says you are 29”

“yes”

“Oh my boy! U gonna catch that old fashioned disease TB

you are too young to have it”

“Im actually 30”

“why did you lie”

“thats what we do in schools we filled the form one year or two year younger

we have been taught how to lie from schools”

“if you dont take rest for a month or so...u surely gonna catch TB..by the way what do you do?...it seemed like u do some heavy works..”

“Im a reasearch scholar”

“what do u research on?”

“aah... about Universe the stars the galaxy....”

“so u use telescope and all ..how heavy are telescopes ,,,do u often lift them up and play with it? Ur report seems to tell me u do some heavy work...”

“i dont use telescope”

“then how do u study stars?”

“i do maths ,,,,algebra to study”

“oh ...do u think u r some kinda god to study stars without looking at it...?,,,what else do you do?”

“aaaahhhh i write poetry too”

“ahhh Kabita!”

“yes”

“what do you write about?”

“ write about me ..about things i observe...about things i hate///abou things that betray me”

“I thought poetry is about feeling,,,but urs seem to do a lot with only THINGS......

what time do u sleep and wat time do u get up”

“nothing particular....I am insomniac...i sleep sometimes very early...sometimes dont sleep at all”

“thats bad..u have to sleep in time...u have to follow a routine...”

“i know”

“then why?”

“just cant...i dont know why..i am seasoned to this cycle....”

“is it poetry and the THING that makes u sleepless ”

“may be I dont know”

“but u shud know if u keep living that kinda life u surely gonn die with TB”

“hmmmmm.....so TB is a good company of poetry....but i have never heard a poet suffering from TB”

“so what? U gonna be the first one”

“I will try to change my routine....”

“good...”

“it is not only poetry that makes me sleeepless....there is music too”

“oh! U think of Music too”

“yes,,,a lot...”

“what type of music? Rafi's suhani raat? Bollywood item songs?”

“No...my music”

“your music....???”

“yes i play music....i sing a bit too...”

“what do u sing about?,,,is it again the THING?”

“i sing about Manipur, Kashmir, Binayak sen,etc”

“what is Binayak Sen?”

“it is a person's name...he is a great doctor like you,,,he listens to poor people..he treats them free..he was arrested by Chattisgarh police framing as a Maoist ”

“i thot he must be related to bollywood like konkona sen or riya sen....and waht do u sing of Manipur...? ”

“I sing about Irom Sharmila and other issues”

“who is she?”

“she is woman who has been on hunger strike for last ten years demanding of the repeal of AFSPA”

“how is she still surviving? And what is AFSPA?”

“She is in police custody and being forced fed thru her nose....AFSPA allows u to kill over suspicions...many civilians have been killled”

“Ok...what do u get out of singing all thiese thing?”

“Nothing”

“then why?....dont worry now u gonna get TB”

“you know what NOTHING is what exactly u live for....u live for NOTHING....I get TB free but I live for what i believe...and By the way TB doesnt kill these days,,,u may be a doctor but i know it too....I have taken too much of ur time....call ur next patient who may be living for NOTHING like you do...”

just another Bday

2011-07-22T23:56:00.001-07:00

After months

I took out

my Bata leather chappals

and walked it to the Cobbler

he fixed it and polished it

i dropped 20 bucks

and walked back home

singng “English man in new york”

across the shitty slum

i slipped over a half eaten banana

and tore my slipper again

again i walked limping

to the cobbler

and dropped ten bucks again

he fixed it

and i walked back home

looking at ground silently

singing nothing

and a five hundred ruppee note

found me...

and i went straight to the liquor shop

called the day my birthday

and talked to few artists...

what kinda artists i dont remember

want to tear my poems someday

2011-07-22T23:55:00.001-07:00

I wud love to tear my poems

someday

but how?

i dont know

most of them

i type in my netbook

i need to buy a printer

to tear my poems

oh! that means

i need money

to tear my poems

8 am

2011-07-22T23:54:00.001-07:00

8 am

just got back

from my usual morning walk

Oh! i dont walk evry morning

i walk only when i had a sleepless night

i saw an 8pm bottle

crying out its emptiness on the road

when the dogs urinated in it

i saw the old man sitting

shrunken withered

behind his thick glasses

betrayed by his own shop

where he once bullied me

while buying eggs

(he gave me broken ones)

now he is not allowed

to open the shop without his son

as his eye sight is very weak

and cant see the difference

between 100 and 500

though he noticed me and said

“why dont u cut ur hair, bahadur? ”

i screamed back as he is bit deaf

“I am not bahadur”

“how does it matter?

You still make chowmein

i have seen you buying noodles”- he said

oh what a stubborn old prick is he

in his withered nuts

7 am

2011-07-22T23:53:00.003-07:00

7am

I observe lots of thing

about her, the woman that hurried

to the bus stop in a loose sari

to drop her young son..

I wont tell u a single thing

about it

6 am

2011-07-22T23:53:00.001-07:00

6 am

I needed nicotine

i got down from my flat

there was only two shops opened

mine was not opened

I am very particular about

from where i buy my things

like a thin black drug user

in hollywood movies

who is very particular about his supplier

i just dont smack

anything just like dat

So i waited for my shop to open

the owner came in yellow shirt smiling

behind his thick black moustache

greeting me “Oye Ronit”

D or T, he doesnt care...

he pulled up the shutter

and the first thing i saw inside the shop

was the thing that said “STAY FREE”

in big bold letters

and in smaller letter

it said “SECURE”

and i suddenly envied those girls, ladies, women

who get to use something that say “stay free”

What a luck a man has

we get things that say “Just do it”

and who knows where against the wall

or in the bushes of thorns...

i got my nicotine

with a free poem in my mind

and came back whistling

5 am

2011-07-22T23:52:00.001-07:00

5 am,

bored very bored

not sleepy at all

not at all

The dharma bums became just another book

Bukowski was too old to excite me

Tenzin Tsundue was too much about refugee

i decided i wll have the darjeeling green tea

remembering what my neighbor said

“Green tea are for intellectuals”

So i decided to be an intellectual at 5 am

naked and ant bites all over my body

entered the kitchen

the basin was full with unwashed plates

i peeped insde the pressure cooker

something was spoilt

i cudnt fgure out...

i smelt it...yet i ddidnt know what was it

i didnt remember what i cooked two days back

but knew for sure it was rotten like hell

so rinsed the plates and pressure cooker

while the tea boiled

two little mouse came out

they too have decided to be an intellectual like me

It seemed

but i shooed them away..

with the pressure cooker lid

as im very particular about who else

are inetellectuals around me

and i sipped the tea standing in my balcony

flirting with the Sun-less- not-so dark sky

and believed “The Sun is a shameless Bitch”

as it comes up everyday .....

this time

2011-07-18T08:32:00.000-07:00

this time ..Did i actually kill God
with a broken bottle of Beer?

Everytime I got drunk I killed a God
How many i have killed
Some with my spits
Some with my shits

Reading Books

2011-07-18T08:30:00.000-07:00

Reading Books wont make you wise
u have already eaten enough shits
without thinking
the books were written to be read
that's why you read it foolishly
after your meals...
Just come out and sit in the streets
see the flies flying
see the bees buzzing
do you know why they fly shaking their butts in the air?
They know too little things of this shitty world
they dont read the books you read,,,
they just dont care...

that's my style

2011-07-18T08:29:00.001-07:00

the grasshopper committed suicide
in my toilet bucket
there was not even enough water to drown him
but he did managed
that's his style

And me, I say "I am dead"
in every little poem i write
in every night i drink
I punch life away
I hang my soul from the ceiling fan
and burn it with cigarettes
and i live and I am gonna be thirty one
and that's my style

when relationship went wrong

2011-07-18T08:28:00.003-07:00

When my first relationship went wrong
I became a poet
when my second relationship went wrong
I became alcoholic
when my third went wrong
i started sleeping on the roads
When my fourth went wrong
I published a book
named 'love is a whore'

Booze Hunt

2011-07-18T08:27:00.000-07:00

3 am
we went to Nizamudin to get booze
crossing the shitty railway tracks
that smelt of real India,
with a dirty drunken old man
who led the way

we got two half bottles of Royal Stag
and two beer bottles for the ladies
we drank all
and they all went to sleep
how boring were they
they didnt even whisper
"we are fucking drunk "

Only me left on the road
looking around for a clean place
To sleep
but the damned dogs shooed me away

someone please take me to Tibet

2011-05-21T13:48:00.005-07:00

Someone please take me to Tibet
There is fire and bedbug in my bed
Im sick of Delhi and its weather
and i can tell you hundred reasons
to prove this is not my city or country

I wanna feel the Chinese government now
i want the Chinese toy stamp on my ass
it wont make me a lesser Akhu
I was once below the poverty line
now Im at the line of crossfire
I have had enough of Indian Government
and its atrocities,
I cried but they said it is just my slanting eyes
I want Tibet now
I want Momos now
I want to meditate remembering what is not in my memories
I wanna rot in the Chinese Prison
where Ngawang Chophel was kept for six years.
China! please frame me once i get there
i dont care as being the citizen of India
here people dont get legal trials..
Just frame me, i dont even have a buck to hire a lawyer
I dont wanna rot in JN Hospital where i skated when i was a kid
when the building was new
Nawang Khechog, blow me away with the sound of your flute
i wanna fly above the Himalaya
Delhi is melting like my own semen in my own palm

The dogs are chirping
The birds are barking
the Faridabad night trains are crying
Im sick of my pressure cooker obsession
my friends are uselessly drunk and depressing
I wish them their death now
I just want to go to Tibet
Someone Please take me to Tibet
I want to feel the real bullets of real PLA
I wanna sing 'Tibet in Song'
Summer here is all about tomatoes and cucumbers
I want poetry, i want to read poetry
I love poetry, i love to read poetry
no one is selling them here
no one is writing them here
no one cares of them here

Some one please take me to Tibet
I wanna ride a yak chewing yak meat
I wanna fill my pocket with roasted barley
I wanna have butter tea in the morning
Mother, Im too much a poet to be your son
My love, im too much a poet to remain your lover
Father, Im too much a poet to work in the fields
Soldiers, Im too much a poet to die in your bullets
India, Im too much a poet for you
I know some day you will drive me off
for being with you in 69 position in my poetry
I better go away on my own
Tell the Chinese Embassy to grant me a life long Visa

Someone please take me to Tibet
There is fire in my bed
This city makes me sad
all my trousers and shirts are wet with sweat
The sun here makes me mad
my people, they love to rape
can't you hear me Tibet?
I wanna be that frozen ice slab before i die
upon the Himalaya
don't tell me of religion or god Jehovah
don't talk to me of sickle and hammer or of Chinese toys
I just wanna be me in your lap, in you, Tibet
Long ago, she acted as Pebet mother
but the little ones have been murdered, killed, raped, coverted, etc
in the valley in the hills in this country.
She now is no longer a Pebet
She is now Tagore's flower in his repetitive murmurs of Spring evening.
Tibet, i dont wanna be sad anymore

To Illina

2011-04-29T21:26:00.001-07:00

Illina
reading you i cried last night
Hope you find the Chattisgarh you love
in the knot you made
at the edge of your floral sari
Illina
my heart is already a home for you
Hold his hand for the life to be shared
don't worry of home, in Manipuri
we have a saying ''you can't take your home when you die"

Im a lousy poet

2011-04-29T20:51:00.001-07:00

Im a lousy self styled Poet.
.dont come closer,,
you will end up in my poems
crushed between commas
or punctuation,
followed by meaningless verbs

Im a lousy self styled drunken poet
yet want to be thin and rich
may my poems speak of something else
that even the dogs dare to bark
I lie in good ways
but never wrote a poem to please someone
Im just lousy in my way
in your perspective
I dont have any adjectives
Im just a lousy poet

dont call me
I dont have a new phone yet
the old one is still naked
you may speak of love and tender
but my naked fone recieve it in nude
they will end up in poems
titled like "Naked Poems"
How lousy Iam

Water melon are subjects of my poems thesedays
I dont remember a bit of Imphal anymore
except the criss crossed wires at electric poles
at Alu Gali
Im rootless
I am dying with no religion
like the mad man who hangs around his neck
a wall clock at Shamu makhong
who keeps telling others
His time is more acurate
than the one atop GM Hall.
Im a lousy thrity year old man
who claims to be a full time poet

Dont hang around my room
Im not gonna write about you anymore
till im in my good mood
I dont care of my English
i m not gonna write anymore
for my lover but for the dopers
who hide by the bank of Imphal river
with syringes and tablets or bullets

Im a lousy poet
dont read me
it may give you a different meaning of life
and you may become as lousy as me
but Im sure Im not one of you
cos Im a lousy poet

April is in its midway
And here comes good friday,
for me an Omen
as it is dry day
and within the month
my heart broke twice
i recover it last friday,
watered with Romanov
Still im lousy
Yet Im sure Im not one of you

Im a lousy poet
i thot of myself as Sisyphus
long ago
remembering how i kicked up
the pebbles on my way atop
cheiraoching...
now I know
Im a lousy Poet
with no editors or publishers
cos Im not one of You poets

f*&^k YOu

2011-04-29T20:50:00.001-07:00

You tolerate everything
even when they practice
unlawful acts upon me and my sister
You sit at your desk
wearing that dirty mask
borrowed from whom i dont know
now you point your fingers at me
when i write 'fuck you'
when i say 'you are a waste'

You criticize the poets
You said you know how healthy is she
you lie even after they call you liar
Now you point your borrowed revolver at me
when i say "fuck you and your lies"
when i say "you are just another joker"

You say the street is for the boots
reading the morning newspaper of yesterday's riot
between police and public
now you lie with your half opened chest
on the same street
with the bullet that come with my name
and i say "i know you would die so"

bored

2011-04-29T20:49:00.001-07:00

Im bored, simply bored
no one even comes to kill me
for all the bad poetry i wrote
Im bored, very bored
Give me anything
but not this government
Im bored, fucking bored
No one even calls me
and Im not drunk too
I am bored and whored
No one even comes to fuck me
It has been months
Im bored and disturbed
no police comes to shoot me
even if i spit on their boots
Im bored very bored
Can i change my country?
Can i make love upon the flag?
Im bored, deadly bored

Jesus' son

2011-04-29T20:48:00.001-07:00

You are not going to accept me
in my torn jeans
with my unshaven chin
with my poetry
with my history
with my songs
inspired by mother India's thong

But I tell you the truth
I m Jesus' Son.
Ask yourself
why would i crucify myself
on every top of mountains
leaning against the air?
There is no place for God these days.
Dont you hear the news of Sai Baba's death

Tissue

2011-04-29T20:45:00.001-07:00

No one is with me around to chat

I hear my neighbor locks his room

Only a roll of tissue i see

in a corner of my dusty room

and nothing but a roll of words

i see to call it a poetry for you

Since i have been writing poems

of things like computer, telephone,

pressure cooker, etc

since she left forever

since i heard she recieved a gift pack

on 14^th february

When i cry, I need no hands to wipe off my tear

I just need a tissue

When I am aroused sexually, I need no cunt or a mouth

I masterbate and all i need is a tissue

to wipe off the bastard sperms

When I catch cold i need no care from a doctor

all i need is a tissue to blow my nose

and I have a thick roll of tissue.

Tong and thong

2011-04-24T12:30:00.001-07:00

Do not ask me of your red thong

all i did was to undress you

while Bono sang “But I still

haven't found what Im looking for you”

with his IRA cap

in the radio

All i did was to massage you

while you were busy messaging

while the radio sang “But i still haven't found

what im looking for”

But some time i did misplace the tong

in the Kitchen.

As I seek happiness in my kitchen

2011-04-19T04:56:00.001-07:00

A half written poem died in my mind

as i saw a dead body with its cottoned nose

Everything i saw sulk,

the vegetables silently,

the rickshaw pullers so sleepy

the grocery shops so empty and calm

and me with no expression about anything

I seek happiness in my Kitchen

among the leaves of corriander

among the pea nuts and peas

at the bottom of utensils

underneath the Gas Cylinder

opening up layers and layers of Onion

Oh! it is here floating over the pork curry

with its brimming fat..

Animal Poets

2011-04-19T04:55:00.001-07:00

The cows in the shed are lazy poets

reciting poetry of hay and meadows

leaning over each other

chewing untiredlessly

hanging their milk-full breasts

surrendering easily every morning

to the milkman poet with the aluminium cans

The cats are mad poets

in the morning sun

waiting for a 'sparrow' to rhyme

with 'window'

of the kitchen

from where they will steal chicken

The marching ants are beat poets

travelling continuously

climbing the steepest thing up and down

looking for sweets like grapes in american outskirts

where kerouac had many sex with ladies in grape farm

with the heels soften by red wine from the grapes.

the mosquitoes are failed poets like me

whose lives you can't predict.

Heard a Slap, then

they ooze poetry of blood on the walls

leaking their own lives

the bees are romantic poets

who wait for spring

for mango flowers, lilies, tulips

jasmine ,etc, and they love to suck

They are thieves like many i know

The flies are fake poets

who act like philospher.

give them a place

a garbage or a spit

a wet private genital or sticky fingers

they will hover around

with their limbs in their heads rubbing

as if they are in deep thoughts

as if they are going to create a gold mine

the ponies are street smart poets

but never do a thing on their own

till whipped or canned

they keep the tradition of old school

as they are fools

The dogs are the worst poets

who write and bark

at poor men and women

who snatch others' poems

They are mostly green and black in colors

they travel in group

they sniff everything they see

at nights they remain high

but stick to each other

as they fear for their lives in dark

the spiders are propagandist poets

every corner they spread their webs

attracting helpless foolish poets

and slowly they will make the foolish poets' soul dry

and will leave them dead hanging from the gallows poles

The bulls are working class poets

with no idea how to defy the status quo

they will die as poets with their unpublished poems

soaked in their own sweat

while even their dung have been exploited

the fishes are the poets in prison

they wait for their day to come

with no idea who brought them in prison

or what poems have they written to end up in prison like this

'die! Die!

The bait is, for you, a rope to hang'

they are guarded by dogs

they are spat by dogs

they are pissed by dogs

the migrant birds are the hungryalist poets of 1962

who all gathered here dreaming a new revolution

under their colorful wings

but left leaving a fellow poet in a trap...

and they never returned

since then, no poets ever drop pamphlets of their poetry

in the streets of city of joy, except in russian stories.

since then the streets are wordless and voiceless

now they only write for themselves and carry wherever

they go like robins in the eastern hills under their wings

and the lake awaits for a new flock of migrant birds

the owls are the three poets of Shingnaba

who in day time, in 1974, were very hungry and angry

but now at such night time become sober,

so sober that their poems are with full of punctuation,

to breathe for every word and line and stanza.

They sit by a hole of a banyan tree as old as withered,

observing the robbed, raped and killed animals..

once a year they fly out of the hole to see the thick jungles of Assam

but they used to kick their mothers by chests earlier to fight the enemies.

SUnday Rain Walk

2011-04-19T04:54:00.001-07:00

5pm

Abe woke me up

saying "wake up dada

see the sky is dark, so unsual

can't you smell the dust?

dont your hear the sky thundering

like a mad dog in the deep of night?"

I asked "what's wrong with him?"

she laughed "You are more blue than the sky i know"

I woke up lazily with the heaviest heart on earth

My breakfast was Officer's Choice

I woke up

with thoughts of her, the pink girl, the tomato salad loving girl,

rememebring how she made me felt like a a very shy school boy

at Namdunlong church

she stared at me

i stared away at the window

half blinded by her hair

neither straight nor that wavy

Jesus saw it all,

He is dumb that's why he is silent

all these months

other wise he would have translated

why i said "I like you"

I meant 'I love you"

Yes, with thought of Ma Cabin Hoten too

where I saw the fine lines of her lips

where a bowl of chicken curry

played the most undelicious curry

on earth...

the tea was sweet like her,

the ladies in front of us with the kid

I didnt care of,

But it is too late

I miss the bus

There is no point of seeing Ripe Mangoes

in the vegetable market in spring

Upon the pull-cart

when people talk of cucumbers.

But I dont care

I have decicded to be a full time poet

and never will write about banana i see

cos i hate to eat them or peel the for others

I will write of things i love

I will cry of things I dont get

As i no longer care of things around me,

Let the world rot

like my own jeans soaked in the bucket of water

for days before Binayak Sen got bailed

I will not dream to handshake anymore with lady Roy

I have got my big things with no gods

unlike her small things with gods

i have to take care of them..

I will not care of the world

when i sleep with scent of whiskey

when i wake up with table full of pegs

with all these thought

I walk in rain with my CMB umbrella

spitting in rain in my lane

thinking of writing this poem

but i know people who read this wont get it

they are as shallow as my neigbor's pond

in Imphal with some unwanted fishes in it

And if you think there are grammartical mistake in the poem

or i have mispelt the words

Blame the Keyboard of this computer

not me or my dirtynail fingers

You know, I write when i want to write with my heart

and my heart doesnt lie

nor it cares where Im

Even if im at Lakshmi Cyber Cafe...

And Poetry is all i got

dont ask me to stop writing

Im sorry if i have used you in this poem

but I use only the things i love in my poetry

unlike the History, you know, filled with hate

with this poem

2011-04-16T11:11:00.001-07:00

With this poem

I throw away the memories of her

in my polythene of garbage

with the left over spoilt rice

I know the memories

will often come as my heart is soft and tender

like that of jackfruit tree leaves

but i dont care

I will throw them away continuosly

like i pour down every peg of whiskey

in my little dry throat.

She lied she lied

when she continously said to me;

'you lied you lied'

With this poem

I deleted every pictures of her

from my sister's camera

from my netbook

With this poem

I erased the memories of last september

I erased the memories of me and she

in holy family hospital

with this poem

I burnt her two black panties

which were of no use to me

other than reminding of how she smelt

\with this poem

I sit right now in my stair

where the dog left his paw marks

Time says 2.19 am

as I write this

But i dont give a fuck

with this poem

i call it a day

but a 400ml of whiskey bottle

awaits me lying on my bed

like my whore

............................

Computer

2011-04-13T19:17:00.000-07:00

The grandson arrived
after four years of computer engineering
with a computer.

The gradma smoking her hidak chafu asked
"what is this 'computer' all about?
Heard a lot about it"

The grandson replied
"Abok! with this you can do anything....
all u need is to program it to do what you want
like ,like.....u can make it cook ur meal
wash your clothes
find firewoods"

Grandma said "Great! Program it and refill my Hidak Chafu"
''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
Hidak Chafu- Traditional Meitei Hookah

Goodbye Ginsberg

2011-04-13T19:07:00.000-07:00

Ashley always said
"You cant like Beat, Akhu,
cos you are not homosexual"
And today i silently give up
my obsession of Beat
as Bukowski replaces it all

but Bukowski always comes
with a can of American beer
or wine in his German hands
and I can't afford beer or wine
so i sit with him with Old Monk
Or Sikkim

Goodbye Ginsberg!
Don't let Nixon talks
about your America in heaven
here i will take care of Obama
in my poetry

Some Shits

2011-04-13T17:21:00.000-07:00

I die more than i do my living
I wake up again and again
As they forget to cremate me again and again

Trap me now
In richmen's world
Undress me now
among the flamboyant gentlemen
I have got poverty to offer to them
I have got my body for the scars they want to carve

Rape me now
with your boots and tooth
I have bled enough
Nothing more to paint these streets of my own shadows

My Mobile Phone

2011-04-13T17:06:00.000-07:00

Every time i get drunk
I take it out of my pocket
if i am walking
or pull it from under the pillow
If im overdosed with cheap rum
and call the girl i love
call the girl who loves me
we will talk for 40 minutes
we will wish each other
I will also talk mad
I will say I like her

But I slammed the phone on the walls
many time when my ex said "Im a loser"
when i fought with drunken frens
in drunken nights of delhi

I remember the day the girl i love called me
when i was having a drunken auto night ride
on ring road smoking the snatched bidi
from the driver's lips

She said" You never acknowledge my love
i dont think you care of me
There is a boy who loves me
i must start seeing him soon
Take Care..keep wrting poems
I love them all as much as love you"

I replied "Ok good, Have a good life"

I reached home and slammed the poor cheap phone
on the walls where i slammed my head before i owned a fone
it got broken into pieces like my own shattered heart
next morning i picked up the pieces
Yet it worked except the LCD...

It never betrayed me like my own poems
after fifteen days i repaired it
and deleted all the fone numbers of the girls i knew
i loved i hated i admired i envied...

since then it has clean like my throat at this moment
which was just rinsed by 250ml of whiskey

And How unkind i have been not to write a poem
for my own mobile phone,,,

It is new year and here Im writing it
for my mobile phone,,,
stay with me till i slam you again

Scent of a Poem

2011-04-11T20:53:00.000-07:00

Among you in suits and boots

Among you who stood or sat

for what you believe in

Among you, young or old

Among you, tall or short

Among you, ugly or beauty

Have you ever read a poem

that smells cigarette butt?

But I have

Consider me as Bengal Tiger

2011-04-11T20:52:00.001-07:00

Consider me as Bengal tiger

Save me

Im going to extinct

you dont have to feed me meat

I can survive on mustard or cabbage

consider me as bengal tiger

cage me

the freedom you give me

brings nothing but blood, sweat and death

I have shivered in summer

I have sweated in winter

Consider me as bengal tiger

I wont sing or read anything

I wont even roar

I have lost my voice in the streets of Imphal

when they stuffed my mouth

with the barrels of their guns

Consider me as bengal tiger

my lover is gone far away

find me a female as bengal tiger

i want to copulate

let the race of bengal tiger be increased

consider me as bengal tiger

when i lay in the lazy winter sun

after my free meal, reading newspaper

yawning over the pictures

of Primi Minister and MLAs

and sexy foolish half nude mindless models

consider me as bengal tiger

I will give up poetry to be a bengal tiger

I always wanted to be naked

and to see others in naked

thats why i write poetry

consider me as bengal tiger

let me doze off naked

showing off my balls

inside the cage snoring

with my tongue catching flies

dreaming of wild African jungles

save tiger

2011-04-11T08:14:00.000-07:00

consider me as a Bengal tiger

save me,
im going to extinct
adopt me,
Im an orphan on the run
feed me
Im as hungry as your son

Bukowski

2011-04-11T08:08:00.001-07:00

I blame Bukowski
for the pool of whiskey
i had, for having me felt like singer poet
at 4am in the morning singing duet
with curtain in my window,
... remembering the widow
I love

April Fool! Susaina!

2011-04-03T00:24:00.001-07:00

Susaina!
It is 29th February
and I become Irish
propose me
ask me "Will you marry me?"

April Fool.

Susaina!
I have forgotten Manipur
when i see you,
listen to the irish music
look at the irish rose i grow in my head

April Fool

Susaina!
You and i shall never get married
till they repeal AFSPA even if im irish
you shall never conceive my child
as there are stray bullets and dogs
in the air, in the streets

April Fool

Susaina!
If all the lies I whispered in your ears
had colours
you would not need a jewellery
No silver No gold
You would have been too colourful
for the bloody streets

April Fool

Susaina!
Pound me with your high heels
Grind me in your kitchen grinder..
I can't be the bull anymore to till your irish soil
Let me be the onion to make your eyes cry
even if i fail to make you cry your heart

April fool

Spring wish

2011-04-03T00:23:00.001-07:00

Spring be my canvas shoes
like kerouac's
to take me all over this country
to be the pop out leaves
of old trees

Spring be the song i sing tomorrow
with birds be the chorus

Spring be my love
as it lasted only a moment
I shall have the best.
find it among the nests
and for me, them, go catch

Spring be the whiskey i drink tonite
with ashtray be the companion

Spring be the silence i play
with string less shoes in evening
spring be the broken glasses
the morning sweeper be the god
I knew who is blind deaf and dumb

spring be me under the shed
with cyclists be the wind to take me away

to her

2011-03-30T08:05:00.001-07:00

Pound me with your high heels

Grind me in your kitchen grinder

A wish in bangalore

2011-03-30T08:04:00.000-07:00

Once i had a lover

who thought i was a rubber.

She thought i would go back

to where i was.

She was bit in hurry

she changed from pink to yellow

waitng for no seasons

she took me to the chemist shop

in the morning

holding me through voice

from shop to shop

looking for Nycil

she loved tomato salad

I took her to pee

at nights

she wanted to get married

all i asked was for sometime

to feel my heart beats

but she is gone now

where is she?

O tomatoes of Ema keithel!

did she come here

with her father?

I remain her lover

O cyclists on the road

did you see her

with her bicycle?

She must have been around

she doesnt cycle that fast

If i meet her again

and if there is no one by her side

I would hold her tight

till im eighty or seventy

Just for a night

2011-03-30T07:57:00.001-07:00

whether you accept it or not
Let me present myself to you
I will not grow the china rose
out of your navel in your sleep
I will never again take away
the sleep from you eyes with my filthy kisses

Im next to you lying
when you spread your hands or legs
in ur sleep
please be careful
Im fragile
I may break anytime
Im softer than what you are
Just touch me tenderly
I will touch you back dearly

just for a night
just for moment

my hammer

2011-03-23T02:01:00.001-07:00

To the ones she loves

She is a cushion

or a furniture.

But to me

She is a hammer

Replacement

2011-03-23T02:00:00.001-07:00

In kurta he comes with beard

From north

and replace me

her love comes wearing a hat

from east

then she keeps me aside

Saying I will never change

I weep

then she gives me a tissue

the rain pours as we stand

under the shed

I smile as I have an umbrella

but a man with a raincoat

comes from south

and they walk away

we meet again after spring

she comes from west

but she wears a thing called ring

Ode to Music at Dawn of March 22, 2010

2011-03-21T14:37:00.000-07:00

There are too many beautiful music
with which I can Kill myself.

A Suicidal Drama Hero (When spring comes)

2011-03-20T04:25:00.001-07:00

a suicidal drama hero

dreamt next to the cemetery

with crosses sending signals of silence

the moon above so big and low

making a vow

to the curtains of his windows

how do the trees know it is spring time

when i dont know what's in my mind

spring be my lover

insanity be my spring

Soko be my insomnia

Charles Bukowski be me

wondering 4am in the morning

what such a lifeless poem

doing upon my white pages of me-peace-lover

dawn time, no more caffeine in my vein

the chinese pencil broke its lead

leaving a hole in my dirty pillow

I heard this purple city

singing colours

and i sang black and white

and the morning sky showered loneliness

and everybody in the streets got an umbrella

except me and i was wet,

wet like in dreams of night swimming

A sucidal drama hero

who was stuffed with songs of fraud in his mouth

at drunken nights of Bangalore, I am

some hopes some loves

some tear drops some spits

I left on the dusty roads

for those who love to pick up

cry for me, spring

with your new leaves of old trees

and the wind shall mop away the fallen leaves.

die for me, you street dogs,

with your howl

showing off your naked vein-full of testicles

in winter morning

save some love for me, lovers,

on the warm benches

where you hold each others' hand

Im going to lie flat on the benches

flower for me, you tiny little red roses,

at places where my lover lives

Im not going there anymore

Sing for me, you beggar singers inside the bus,

the song i have betrayed from my heart

to sing for “Dear Country” and its glory.

Im not gonna sing that ever.

Kill me, you killers,

for i have no purpose nor my poems

burn me alive with my suicidal instinct

like those effigies they kicked and slapped

and tore before being burnt.

Steal me, you theives

from such times of my life

place me at times of innocent laughters

whistle for me, you night trains

the tune that i once listened to along with her voice

at nights of beating my head against the wall

write for me, you liar poets,

with your good handwriting

read them out to your audience

they will have a good laugh,,

Gossip for me, you gossipers,

I am poor, Im rich

I need a stitch

but for every words you have

i can write you a poem

my words shall run faster than your automobiles

my poems shall be longer than your hair

A nest for me, you morning sparrows,

in the tree i can name Home

where i see no chameleon in the morning sun

where i can lavishly write poems of your fallen feathers

and my grey hair

My Blue Bag

2011-03-10T15:35:00.000-08:00

I bought a blue bag
on my way to post office
with my aunt
to collect the things
that come sailing across the ocean

I hanged it around my shoulder,
(I love it)
here and there
as i walked
empty and vacant as my soul

Even while reading Bukowski
I remembered it
and thought how wud it be to carry
a quarter of cheap rum in it

i told my friend from sikkim
that i carried it even to grocery shops
she said she would never do it
and asked me to carry my harmonica in it,
an apple or a banana
or a diary and pen;
(but no to pen down this poetry for sure)
or a hanky to blow my nose
remembering the mother goose

I would still love to carry
it to the vegetables market
and fill it with tomatoes
and feel the weight of red

my blue bag is not fake
It got its blue from the sky
it got its emptiness from my soul
as i am a man in Nirvana
who has seen love
and known it is too easy to fall in love

my blue bag
I aint a sad story
lets pluck some flowers
for these streets of my feet

Thoughts in Kongu Express

2011-03-06T09:11:00.001-08:00

carried a bag on my back
wearing an old pair of slippers
i stood waiting for the train
while the cobbler came
looking at my dirty slippers
so gave them away to be polished
while he let me wore his chappals
my feet felt the softness of his feet
for ten ruppees...

the train came howling shining
unlike those which go to Guwahati

of the crisscrossing dirty tracks
i did not care
all i saw was the starving crows
as it was not the season for farmers
to commit suicide

the fields were lifeless
like the farmers
but my yellow mustard flowers
all over spreading
like my dreams of daffodils

i let the wind blew on my face
through the rusty iron windows
let the wind wrote of a new face

the monkey shook the branches of a dead tree
waking the death out of it
like a mother in my valley
shaking the body of her dead son

the railway track labourers squat
holding empty water bottles next to the track
showing off their sad smiles
as if telling me like there is nothing ahead
except emptiness like their bottles

the far away chimney smoked
against the empty sky of blue
like an old man with his naked chest
that coughs out blood for the socialist poets
to write poems with their propaganda

Bhopal arrived with hot sweet little samosas
but i had bolied chanas with green chilli
Smell of hot biryani carried the train further to Hyderabad
I wanted to take Charminar with me for my lover
but she didn't want it as she had no place for historical monuments
in her heart as it was already filled with stories of "You wont believe me"
So i just smoked a Charminar Cigarette

And Egypt turned so cheap in the Newspaper
every page talked of it
"Mubarak, We have go to take bath"
I saw a man reading tehelka next to my cabin
here again they showed the face of the man
who begged for his life with joined hands
and the caption said "One man that made the nation cries"
but who made him cry?
everyone knows, he who sits upon lotus like god.

trashing away the thought of Gujarat Carnage
i looked out again across the fields
the crisscrossing of the wires and tracks bothered me

'i want to own a sugar cane farm in cuba
not in india
as lives of farmers last only a season

I have a friend who is pink
His fists are red
University never let him hold a chalk
to write on black board
Now universities are teaching Pornography
calling it sociology'

with my mind like dirts in a pothole
I arrived here in Bangalore
That night I was just a whore
raped by my own existence
with my own poems and thoughts

Sorry Preety

2011-02-27T11:11:00.001-08:00

My sweet freind!

Poetry comes to me

just like you came to me last night

out of darkness

of a strange city

but now Im stuck

i want to write you a poem

my fingers tried hard

but they are like a child's fingers

upon a Beethoven's piano

Sorry!

Preety!

This night is silly

it gves me nothng

just asking me to chat with you

telling you how the paranthas i had

were withered inside the pastic bowl

tell me how many eggs you had

did you stick out your tongue again

for the your friends or your lover?

Sorry

preety

Im so blank at the moment

just lets chat :)

Ode to my friend that comes smiling with the dawn

2011-02-26T15:15:00.000-08:00

I left the city behind with my broken heart

with those empty whiskey bottles

with my bed with wrinkles from sleepless nights

Again here im, stranded in a sleepless night

in another big city with thoughts of life and death

suddenly she pops out of thin air

and say hello when i am so hollow

we chatter and chatter like morning birds on electric wires

and i stumble upon her sweet little photograph

with her tongue out and i say “you look beautiful”

and she says “dont flatter me ”

and we go on with the lady from south next to me

questioning to me like i was a prisoner of war

but who cares, the dawn is here we have day long ahead of us

we have a life ahead to chatter and swallow what life is

street Poet

sometimes

juliet

laziness lays coins

changed my bed sheetand found so many coins.i think i lay coinswhen i am lazy

&@&@&@

Nothing is right

They say they are not lover

These Rats

the rats cry me a riverbiting my old cassette playeras they pity mewhen they see me married to my blanket

through out the winter in bedO how i hate these rats I am going to pet a cat

I just heard him

Confession of a Liver

Busy Cooking

Finance Me

O my liver

Oh my Liver!My lover is crying a river for you for the damage done to youby all these Sekmai and Anro booze

an alcoholic liar

Do not believe what the science books say about nights The truth is I gave the night Sun awayin one drunken night to my loveralong with my soul, she ran away with the Sun refusing my soul..Since then you have nights Since then my soul rhymes with alcohol

without poetry

Without PoetryAll i have is povertyand also I am ugly

I will walk away

It was love

Fuck you Imphal

She loves America

a sad man in bed

love is older than your grandfather

still a mess

I and my country are like husband and wife

Chew

the red stain in my teeth is the proof that I have been to Imphal when they killed the innocent father and sonas i chewed lotsa paan helplesslywhen all i wanted to chew was their bullets

week

they say it is war on people

On meeting Sudhir Naoroibam at Keishampat Junction

Talking Automobiles

Post Sunday Bomb Blast

I need a fucking Bicycle

Imphal

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

To my little sister

my thing

Oh the Mountains

They can't stop us

listening to her

She got ugly toes

I smoked all the weeds of Bombay

again we choke

Economics

lost my big heart

dont you dream of me

in between

do not die my children

for her

Choose one

i know too many of them

As i grow older

they call me an activist

the economist

Some people were born artists

She wears one

rain

feeling like orgasm

No one is inviting me

nice neighbor

An appointment with the doctor

just another Bday

want to tear my poems someday

8 am

7 am

6 am

5 am

this time

Reading Books

that's my style

when relationship went wrong

Booze Hunt

someone please take me to Tibet

To Illina

Im a lousy poet

f*&^k YOu

changed my bed sheet
and found so many coins.
i think i lay coins
when i am lazy

the rats cry me a river
biting my old cassette player
as they pity me
when they see me
married to my blanket

through out the winter in bed
O how i hate these rats
I am going to pet a cat

Oh my Liver!
My lover is crying a river
for you
for the damage done to you
by all these Sekmai and Anro booze

Do not believe what the science books say about nights
The truth is I gave the night Sun away
in one drunken night to my lover
along with my soul,
she ran away with the Sun refusing my soul.
.Since then you have nights
Since then my soul rhymes with alcohol

Without Poetry
All i have is poverty
and also I am ugly

the red stain in my teeth is the proof
that I have been to Imphal
when they killed the innocent father and son
as i chewed lotsa paan helplessly
when all i wanted to chew was their bullets

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....

I blame Bukowski
for the pool of whiskey
i had, for having me felt like singer poet
at 4am in the morning singing duet
with curtain in my window,
... remembering the widow
I love