It was love

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”