Street Poet

leaking life

No autumn needed
for my hair to fall
No bed needed
for my life to leak away.
I see no reason not to leak it away
here and there.
What is life good for
if it doesnt hav bad memories
What is a skin good for
if it doesnt have any cut
What is these streets for
if it hasnt stained with blood
What is the river streaming for
if it doesnt cry for me

august

you say you dont know poetry
but you are a sixteen year old poet
when you are thirty five.
you walk up to any girls in your sight
try to start a conversation
you say you can read and write music
you say you had spent one night
making music of revolution
hiding away from the law that kills
You have so much to tell
don't you?
but i know you will die a good death
you are selfish as pig and greedy as dog
It's been raining since you bought your dark glasses
and you are crying for it
as you dont get a chance to wear them
you are not sorry for your town
you don't worry for your love as she is a spoilt brat
you are good with your lies and goodbyes
you try to get the daughter of the the man
who sells dead bodies back to their families
but you failed
and sometimes when you hear the song she used to sing
your mouth becomes dry and your heart breaks
you will go on like wont you?
-----------
my room sobs
as the walls drip the old paints
and my shoes with their tongues out
silently waiting for me
upon the torn doormat

the war was too loud
to notice all these..
now i am older and sober
but have forgotten
how to say goodbye to things
--------------------

I dont remember August being so good.
the onions dont make me cry anymore
my clothes get washed on their own
the long lost umbrella popped up
and the cream rolls are stuffed with poetry
and there are hajmola pills around
Tomatoes and Mackerel are ready in the Kitchen
and my landlord is not coming to collect the rent

so continues the month of July

The leaves are gone from the trees
The birds have broken free
Our glasses are empty
The boots are marching towards us
and the dogs are barking

So what?
We are ready to grow old together
all this madness shall be over

0000000000000000
it is so easy.
sometimes I found
happiness
in chewing
fried pumpkin seeds.
and why unhappy at all??
000000000000000000
cried a river
with a damaged liver
seeing the sun
protesting to not fall off
the cliff of Langol hill
and now the darkness,
you call night,
has come
and many fake warriors
have arrived
with their own revolutions
but with stars that twinkle
making fun of my torn trousers
left hanging on the Polangkhok
,,my sun will rise
that will bring a plate of rice
and when i am full
I kill people in my poems

July

we stood in a long ATM queue
then we got talking of things
he was a middle aged man
in a hat from Operation Daybreak.

he whispered "if you have anyone
who will be interested to be an agent,
let me know"
I thought of IB agent.

then I left thanking him.
later i looked at his visiting card.
he was an agent, LIC agent.
-------
Oh July!
you rain on me again tonight
You still remember Thangjam Manorama
and the night of July she was picked up
from her house by 17th Assam Rifles
to rape and murder..
Do you think you can wash that memory?
Do you think you can wash away the 23rd of July
from BT Road's memories?
Do you think you can cloth the mothers?
Do you think you can extinguish the fire on Chittaranjan's body?
It is too late
You bring only memories
to haunt a helpless man's sleepless nights
----------
July is a lie
To the roses waiting for butterflies
But for the frogs
It is everything they dream of..
I heard one of them in my garden
Croaking and rhyming;
"How silly are your thoughts
Just like the toad
I once was, oh folks!
Don't you know its monsoon?
You dont need to water the Khongdrum"
--------------
When Mr President was about to come
They hit me abusing my moustache
telling me i have not done anything good
When there was a fire at Thangal Bazar
They hit me again for no reason
And when is the next time?
I am waiting eagerly to derive a poem,
as folks say everything happens three times

Her Glasses

I miss cleaning your glasses,
My town is so dusty,
Everytime i am out in the street,
i think this must be how
My darling sees the world
Through her unclean glasses

december 23rd

"why the hell you chop me down
I dont give a fuck
of ur hate or protest
I dont belong to any community
nor i care of your ethnicity
Go get a life" - Peepal Trees, Ukhrul Road

langol session (Kalakshetra Manipur)

The sun set
and we filled our glasses
we started with a short film in our mind
about the man who was picked up
from his house by Sikh Regiment
and we ended up
being the stars of the evening
peeing all over the foothills of Langol

december

it is december
stay true to urself
it is the last month of the year
act like u have been good
thru out the year
wear some warm clothes
if possible a bullet proof
and walk like a king
it is the end of the year
walk like u own this town
among these green men
and fuck their fucks
it is december
everyone is in slumber
waiting for the christmas
but christ died
along with many non manipuris
at keibul lamjao
years ago.
it is december
and i die tonite
my chest bursts
and feeds my bed
which has been soaked
with all my dreams and lies

winter poem

A naked poetry bicycling
all over imphal
following me
laughing at my woolen socks
and yellow hand gloves

winter poem

A naked poetry bicycling
all over imphal
following me
laughing at my woolen socks
and yellow hand gloves

my lover's report on her cats

Tangy is pregnant
and coco sadly listens
to INXS' Never tear us apart
sitting at her balcony
facing the sun
snowy is still waiting
for fishie at her door
Hunter is lazier than ever
and jobless
and eats
left over breakfast
in the canteen
Martha doesn't care
of Wainwright family
nor she remembers her daddy
scrawny is crawling
under the bushes
to attack morning sparrow
Hampokche with her chubby cheeks
licking off the last drop of milk
from her over-longed mustache
awww al pacino died too
without any god father
bongo listens to carribean music
and loves lemon tea
Mummy is climbing the tree
trying to mother all the squirrels
Punter I, II, II
they are all in a peace talk
to start all over a punter family
but refuse to have twin kitties
Fudgy cries
missing his old furry days
and he loves to shit
on The Times of India newspaper
Some of them
go to library in the evening

lobers

Childhood lovers they were
holding hands
as the North East Express howled
over the Bhramaputra river
he brought her to Delhi.
three years later
She took him to Chandni Chowk
to sell him off (he had no idea)
like like those camels and goats
the buyer bargained

she asked "how much that would be in dollars?"
the buyer replied "aaah it wud be blah blah in dollars"
she said "Done!" and smiled and went

morning

It is just an ordinary morning
my tooth brush met colgate as usual
i wash only my hair just to look like i bathed
(first cheating for the day)
before i locked my room
i stared at the mess
and convinced myself its me
and It rained like it was in hurry
i bicycled with my broken blue umbrella
i carried my kettle hanging from the handles.

got drenched in rain but liked it
and sitting on my chair
where i should be worrying
about vectors and tensors
I wondered about Sarajevo and Kosovo
and all the frozen corpses
from the documentary i watched..
this is how my morning is shaping up

sleeping pills

The best way to change the world is "to sleep", you know when you sleep you contribute peace to the world. Ask all the soldiers to sleep, make all the lousy politicians sleep, let those religious fundamentalists fall asleep. Hail Sleeping Pills! :D

there u go

There you go telling me
about things i dont know
"there are cherries blooming
in the streets of Tokyo
just before autumn comes
and kill them all"
and i know only of the things
in my town
"There in the streets of Imphal
the armies are patrolling,

such a masquerading sight it is.
there in the street of Churchandpur
a HIV positive girl is walking with a stick
singing her evening song
looking for her evening dose"

India! how nice of you.

India! how nice of you.
you keep all your armies
in my town
and make our lives hell
my brothers and sisters
are all scattered here and there
and now you target them

India we are done with you
Set us free now
We are done with your constitution
we are done with your preamble
we dont need your Hindu-Muslim hatred
we have our own hate going on
between meitei-naga, kuki-naga

Take back you armies
we take back our sisters and brothers
we are done with you
we no longer wanna fill the passport form
that asks us
"Are you a rightful citizen of this country?"

Nice to know you

We sang the song marching against the barricade
we cried together many autumns for the fallen leaves
and for the friends who have left us behind
we climbed the hills together to find truth
in their lie "you can't find peace anywhere"

and one cold winter night
while walking back from the cemetery
you held my hand and put the other in my pocket.
i thought you knew i had nothing

Then the train came whistling
and you said "i got to leave
i got my bag packed"
and looked at me like never before
and said "Nice to know you akhu"

You sure had learnt how to say goodbye
without saying it

Mae Hong Son Poetry

Little poems of the mountains,
they waged war against me
with leeches and rain
but i braved them all
drinking local whiskey
till i was out of my sense
now i found them all
as my prisoners of war
Now i will execute them one after another
-------------------------------------------
we threw ourselves against the mountain
and it embraced us with rain leeches
---------------------------------------------
The mountain knows it all
but it is just not in the mood
to tell you what have you become
what have you lied for
what have you lived for
what have you done
the mountain knows it all
everything is pointless
even this climbing..
------------------------------------------
Every evening
The sun sits on her rooftop
as she sits lavishly
sipping green tea
reading
the little book of war poems
some times
she writes long letter to her warrior
"tonite i will be your poppy flower
come pluck me off my warrior
the bed shall be your battle field
and i will bleed for your love"
----------------------------------------
Since the first night in the mountain
a poem has been following me
like a possessive lover
What do i do with it?

midnight cows

and the midnight cows listen to Spin doctors
through the head phones chewing their own dreams
getting bored of the philosophy class.
when they have time they laugh at the lovers
about how they lie and die so hopelessly

they enjoy rain in winter for they hate to go in the field
they smell their own asses and blame the peasants
they sing folk songs in every festival in the town
they walk lavishly in the streets with their young ones
telling their histories and boundaries they have made
by pissing and shitting around the town