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"