for my cousin brother

it has been years
since i saw you last time..
i dont even remember when
now i heard the news
that you killed urself
i want to say so manythings
but there is no point now
as you are gone

we dont even have a grave
where i can go and offer a flower to you
but i know your body has turned into ashes
and smoke that filled the sky.
here it is raining from the sky
so i would walk in rain now
and this is how i meet you
this is how i say i cared for you
even i never bothered to ask

Who th fuck is calling me now?

Who is calling me now?
Is it Bukowski
trying to boast around
he fucked all the whores of america?
I know it already
that's why all these pervert americans are here in Thailand.
Yes! he has screwed many sleepless nights of mine too
when i feel like a dog who knows not how to bark.

Who is calling me now?
Is it the poetry
i left unwritten next to the guava tree
at Sukothai Mountain?
i did not know poetry can be that stubborn
to ask you to write them down?

Who is calling me now?
Is it Kolatkar
Trying to tell me i can never be an Indian poet
with my chinky looks?
i know i can't look like any indian maps like him
and his map of Bombay
but still my surname Chingangbam
rhymes with Chidambaram

who is calling me now?
Is it my LIC agent fren Chaoba?
I have told him already
i neither have intention to have children
nor ready to make some one rich after i die
when i have such a miserable life
when i am alive.

Who is calling me now?
Is it my underwear
that i left wet and torn by the bank of imphal river?
How the hell does he get my number?
I told him already he didnt fit me.
Now i got bigger balls
just to have big fights with the world.
And i feel much better
without wearing underwear

Who is calling me now?
Is it the police
for i write i hate them?
I still hate them i wont pick up their calls
they are dogs just like me
the difference is i am not owned by anyone

who is calling me now?
Is it the underground people
who wanted to produce my songs
without my knowledge
for they think i am a left.
No! i dont need their help
whether i am left or right
or up or down
I am fine with my songs

Who is calling me now?
Is it my ex lover?
doesnt she know
i need a good liver
just like anyone ?

who is calling me now?
Is it my newly married engineer fren thoiba?
I am tired of listening to his sex life stories
I dont care if he uses strawberry flavour or not
i dont care his wife over reacts or not.

Who is calling me now?
Is it God
trying to tell me he doesn't exist?
I am already convinced he doesnt exist.
Please let me sleep
it is 4.10 am in the morning

then u came

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

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

clouds

clouds came
and all the lamp posts
stood up in surprise

Clouds

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

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

She

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

lamp post

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Arrival

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

im from imphal

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

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

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

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

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

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

she had a bad day

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

what has she been not?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Look at Us

look at us
how good we are with candles

in this scorching Indian summer
when they are so good with everything
rewriting and writing and erasing.

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

little high little lost i am

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

abyss of love

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

:)

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

why haste

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

Proverbs

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

she turning thirty soon

it was an usual evening
she said "i going to be thirty soon
i want to get married
my parents worry too much
and all the persons who love me
or like me dont even understand this"

wish i could help her
but i really dont belong there

she said "you are doing your parts well
writing poetry about me"

Those naked days

many years ago
Khuman Lampak was our play field
much before all the buildings came up.
many times we crossed the Imphal river naked
winter or summer we didnt care
we dug the earth for kakthum
we ran naked across the field
we caught fishes from the streams
along the bank
we hunted wahi from holes to holes

but one time
we decided to sell the fishes we caught
then we all headed naked wet and muddy
for the little tea and bora (pakora) stall
near the complex of Sports Authority of India (SAI)

the old woman refused to buy our fishes
but in exchange she offered us teas and pakoras
we had them and came back happily
naked and covered our butts with dry mud
we did not notice anyone in the hotel.
we came back talking
of how often we should come to the hotel
with fish

the next morning,
me and my mother went to buy some puris
for breakfast in a nearby hotel
then that spinster said to my mother
"Lembi, is that ur son?"
"yes" mother said
"please dont leave ur kid like a stray dog
it is very ashamed to say that he and his frens belong to my locality
they all came naked near my office and even had tea and pakoras
they are so shameless, how can they do that?"

Mother gave me a day long lecture then
while breakfasting,
while lunching, while dining.

and now i am no longer naked
unless drunk and forget my pant in toilet
nor khuman lampak is a play field
now it is with full of IRBs
and has become rich men's jogger's park.
that spinster too has got married in my neighbor
and has two sons and a daughter
but she still does not look at me

Ode to my parents

Last week was my parents' 33rd anniversary
I wanted to wish them but could not
as my phone hates to have balance
and i am their lazy and broke son

years ago
Father was an actor
he acted in GC Tongbra's play
Leisabi Chithi Kala

Mother did not know of it
till the day he said
"i am acting in a play
which will be staging tomorrow at MDU"

They had a huge fight
which i watched like a play
The fight happened cos one of the actress
in the play had given my father a sky blue colour sweater

I was fortunate enough
Mother undid the sweater
and knitted a new sweater for me
which i wore and became my favourite

I was hardly seven or eight years old
Mother took me to the Play
Father's first scene:
He got down from the bus

and said "there is nothing like eromba of Mao"
Father was the protagonist
who is a bombay returned
with a beautiful girl

There was a scene
where two girls fight over him
at that moment
mother wanted me to scream "baba"

which i could not
mother still says "i was a coward"
later i know why she wanted me to scream
she wanted everyone to know that actor is married and a father too

that night too
they had a fight
but it has been years
i have not seen them fighting

father quits acting
but still dreams to direct a film one day
sometimes he jokes
"Lembi! in my film u will get to act as a mother and i am the hero"

Happy 33rd anniversary, mother, father
I am thirty one with hundreds of poems
Thanks for this life
even if it is bit fucked..

she

Playing knuckle bones
She decided to change the world
then she wore what she wanted
and the world watched
and she became the color
of the earth and its joy

Tissue Poem- on the way to Sukhothai

The Highway was full of poetry
Some were playing hanging from trees
some were busy climbing up the lamp posts
The sun soon rose up
and melted them away in the streets
reminding me of many things
that happened back home in the streets
I am sure it is happening evrywhere
every dawn for there is Sun
for there is them you dont want

mountain

The mountain girl came back from spain
and said "let me take you to the mountains
You smell like the air out of your CPU fan

Healed

I am healed
but Gods play no role in it
they are busy
being tall and golden
at every possible roadsides

hate ants

I hate these red ants
they dont respect art
they climb all over
Kala Ghoda Poems
and Andy Warhol.
They think of themselves
as revolutionary, i think.

not fine

My ankle is swollen
I missed my lunch
the noodle was too spicy
and rubbery
the lady gate keeper left her
walkie-talkie on
and somebody
is singing in Thai in it
when i dont get to speak meiteilon
at all days and nights.
I saw her online
but my skype crashed

this is me
and i cant say life is fine

away from this Planet

I got to shift away from this Planet
i dont like anyone here
i dont like to read about Israel and Palestine
i dont wanna know America is a whore when it comes to oil
i dont even wanna write about it
shit..!
i got to write it somewhere

To Be Contd

A Poem

i want to be a poem
written for you (with my names in it)
and read by your cracked lips

Drunk Lover- Me

The first day we met
i was drunk
and you said i was funny

Now whats wrong with you?
i have been drunk for nine months
and u look very angry all the time

Tomorrow is world poetry day

while having my usual night walk
listening to Finnish folk music
three dogs jumped out of a bush
and chased me down the lane

... one for not bothering bout poetry day
one for not trying to learn Thai
one for not wearing underwear
I guess!

Here the dogs always pick me out
and chase me..
how do they know I am an Indian
who dreams to eat Indian Army's dog meatSee More

Public Television

I am a public television

like one of those in railway platform

whether you watch me or not

I will keep reporting

of my own heart breaks

and torn pockets

I dont care of people around

like Indian Media.

I will report of my undergarments

I dont care who are dying

at my left and right.

I will report of my lover's puppies

I am a public television

I will go on

I don't care it is day or night

Lost in Thailand

I am lost in thailand

but I dont mind it

The other day a girl came up to me

and asked me “u want a lift”

I said 'yes'

“where do u wanna go?”

“where ever you go”

but she left me at a bar called “so say”

where the live music band sang in thai

I asked the waiter

she said “it is about roses”

a Vietnamese girl came up to me

selling a bunch of white roses

while I was wondering

should I smoke or not .

I bought a rose

for ten baht

but no one to gave it

I am lost in thailand

but I dont mind it

I turned on the television for the first time

in my room

I saw my country's beggar sitting in row

somewhere in Bombay

and the subtitle said

“The beggars will soon be part

 of an Art exhibition”

oh how I hated it..

but what can I do about it

I am lost in Thailand

I turned off the television

and switched on my earphone

and listen to Icelandic music

and slept off

I am lost in thailand

but I dont mind it

I heard the news

one of my frens passed away in his sleep

what can I do about it

I am lost in thailand

I heard of many atrocities

 back in my hometown

what can I do about it

I am lost here

the govt is back in its power

what can I do

they will kill more and more

what can I do

I am just a foreigner here

loving every bite of my meals here

I am lost drowning 

in the gravy of Suki yaki

what can I do if u are not drowning

 but dying somewhere

To my darling

Darling,
the dogs here are unlike Indian dogs
they dont wave their tails
They dont have a reaction

They dont bark like the ones in your campus
But they stare at me like I am just fallen from the sky
i think they need to be fed Tiger biscuits.

The bikes here dont have clutch
So they ride holding drinks in one hand
the pineapples taste like the ones from my hometown
small and sweet just like you too.
there is nothing in my room
except a sofa set and television that i dont use
i dont have a kitchen

i miss cooking for you
I miss my pressure cooker and its whistles
i miss seeing you eat hot rice
with the steam blurring your spectacle.

I like to think i am lost here
but in a good way
everyone is happy
no one talks of politics
everyone loves their king
they pray for the queen
and i am losing my politics
struggling with chopsticks
 everyday and night
the other night i write a song
i wanted to be political
so the chorus is
"I will catch bullets with chopsticks"
and named it "chopstick blues"

Poetry has been replaced
by mystery of the Universe
or i can't write poetry in higher altitude
i am on fourth floor
Poetry has stopped coming to me

my colleague took me to a river named Khek
which is 37kms away from the University
and i peed inside the river
so i have peed inside two rivers so far
the first one was Imphal River,
it was many years ago
when  Imphal was as innocent as my pee
but this time it was the whiskey called Regency
it just tasted like some single malt expensive scotch.

An Italian professor arrived today
they all said he is a great physicist
and he goes to church every sunday
he wanted me to talk about my work
i wanted to talk about my country
i have loved my country so much
that i can't see it bleeding
but i talked crap for what i will be paid for

I dont like sea foods
they taste like rubber
or like chewing rubber
I miss the smell of my kitchen
my room now has grasshoppers
they are black in colors
i think they like to watch
thai pop music channels
they sit still for hours in my sofa
staring at the television
while i watch the channel for girls
I wonder have i really killed
 all those rats in my delhi kitchen
with that poison.
did they nose bleed to death?
are they all paralysed and gone mad?

almost everyday here i have iced cappucino
cos other coffees i dont know in cafeteria.
They love ice here.
They love noodles here....
They say lives here are simple
as transparent as their glass noodles
 

I dreamt of Joseph Kony

Last night
I dreamt of Joseph Kony
(blame all the news and posts).
Somewhere near Mayang Imphal
I met him in a tea hotel
Called "Ibemcha Tea Hoten"
He said reading Poknafam
"No one fasts in Uganda against me
Or against my Army.
And see! you have a lady fasting
For 12 fucking years
Against the Army and the Act
And no one knows about it.
Why don't u call Jason Rusell??
He may start something like
"Invisible Chinkies"
Or cry at Obama's feet
They will send you American forces"
Oh Joseph !
You dont know anything.
They are the armies
Of my own country
Who salute at the tri-color flag.
By the way, Joseph!
You look a lot like our own Joseph
From Nokphadey
-----------------------------------------
Poknafam- An Imphal based Newspaper
Nokphadey- A comedy video film series produced in Imphal during nineties but still a big hit. Joseph is one of the actors in it.

Spring here

It is spring here
the trees are not confused
to accept the new leaves
like i am so confused
the evening wind smells
like woman's shampooed hair
the insects have invaded the tube light
in my balcony
the crickets are louder
the water melon seller lady smiles
like never before
she knows i want water melon
the pineapples are getting cheaper
it is spring here
and i become a foreigner
and i look a lot like them
unlike in my own country

Am i that dirty?

Go to Toilet
u see a roll of tissue paper
Go to restaurant or bar
u see tissue paper looking out for your hands
out of a funny box that may have a face of an elephant
Go to 711
all u see is Tissue paper
u take a ride in somebody;s car
u find tissue paper...

Life is so dependant here on tissue paper.
Are u that dirty??

sometimes

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

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

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

&@&@&@

Do not blame me for my exaggeration

my poetry demand it

like every oppressed land demands a revolution

Nothing is right

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finance Me

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

O my liver

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

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

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

I will walk away

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Saturday morning

I was little drunk

thats why i was in love

with all the girls

Sunday morning

I got hang over

and was sad about everything

under the sun

Monday morning

I was so jobless

everyone left wearing yellow tie

for their jobs

Tuesday morning

I heard the news in television

three fucking months blockade..

i kept myself calm with a cigarrette

wednesday morning

I was couging

bought myself a cough syrup

and put myself to sleep whole day

thursday morning

I was broke

not a penny in my pocket

not even a song of bullet in my mind

friday morning

my frens called it is weekend

i said i have only one liver

set me free

they say it is war on people

My love!

I am stuck at airport

I am too tired 0

I got hangover from last nite

they say “it is war on people”

far away back home

lets go hide somewhere

i hate to be in cities

i hate to go back home

they say “it is war on people”

far away back home

i dont wanna sing anyore

my shoulder got marks of my guitar strap

my mouth bled last night while playing harmonica

may be it is the barbed wire in my song that cut me

I am tired of being drunk on stage

I dont care anymore of anything

I even didn't brush my teeth this morning

they say “it is war on people”

far away back home

whats the use of teeth against the war

wahts the use of songs against the war

bullet got no eyes or ears

Oh darling

I am stuck at airport

I am too tired to even write this

cuddle me soon

today I belong to that crowd of sad people

and they say ”it is war on people”

far away back home

On meeting Sudhir Naoroibam at Keishampat Junction

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

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

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

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

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

Talking Automobiles

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

Post Sunday Bomb Blast

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

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

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

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

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

I need a fucking Bicycle

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

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

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

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

Imphal

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

To my little sister

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

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

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

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

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

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

my thing

My thing in the morning

Stands up for what it believes in

unlike me and my friends

But it doesn't stand

against the goverment

not for the revolution

Not for America

Oh the Mountains

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

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

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

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

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"