Look! look!
It is in the newspaper.
Honey!
the Indian team has reached Sydney.
Let's pray for them.
Hope they come back with the trophy.
Hey! Hey!
What is today?
Today is Monday
the newspaper is filled with Christmas Stars
tell the kids to stop crying
O! how wonderful Christmas is around
Daddy! Daddy!
I am hungry
i have not eaten a loaf of bread
since yesterday...
boy! My boy!
It is not written in the newspaper
so you are not hungry probably
wait till it comes in the paper
i got a gunshot!
i got a gunshot on my chest
It must be in the newspaper.
Look out folks...
Oh! sorry!
It is not in the newspaper
probably you haven't got a gunshot
or it did not bleed at all...
O Son! my Son!
Do you feel cold?
Do you feel thirsty?
It was yesterday
you rose up tall
and looked down
on the paddy field.
You went away
like morning
bright and fresh.
You came back
like evening sky
the crimson sky
so red! so red!
All wet with blood
Open your eyes
it is no time for you
to be slept on my lap
your daddy is weak
he hardly smells alive
O Son! my Son!
Do you feel cold?
Open your eyes<
Do you feel thirsty?
It was yesterday
you rose up tall
and looked down
on the paddy field.
You went away
like morning
bright and fresh.
You came back
like evening sky
the crimson sky
so red! so red!
All wet with blood
Open your eyes
it is no time for you
to be slept on my lap
your daddy is weak
he hardly smells alive
O Son! my Son!
Do you feel cold?
Open your eyes<
the story
If i was young
and tell them my story
that my father was killed in a riot
and my mother was thrown into fire
they would have given me a hug or two
If i was old
and waiting for my time to die
and tell them my story
that i had stood against the government
and exiled to Myanmar for ten years
they would say; “my eyes already tell the story.”
with my fist raising against the sky
i am just losing myself inside my story
i will be swallowed at the end
without a trace
Many me, again, will come
to be swallowed
to be sunken
to be drunken
to be numb
to be dumb
O! a story will be left unwritten
until the human fades
and tell them my story
that my father was killed in a riot
and my mother was thrown into fire
they would have given me a hug or two
If i was old
and waiting for my time to die
and tell them my story
that i had stood against the government
and exiled to Myanmar for ten years
they would say; “my eyes already tell the story.”
with my fist raising against the sky
i am just losing myself inside my story
i will be swallowed at the end
without a trace
Many me, again, will come
to be swallowed
to be sunken
to be drunken
to be numb
to be dumb
O! a story will be left unwritten
until the human fades
A dark room ( for Ka-Dhiren)
The sun was above heads
With its light tearing the different shades
Of green of the summer trees
A dark room!
His clothes hanging behind the door,
An exit to step on the slippery floor.
He dropped himself
Upon his old companion
Bed and pillow
Piled up newspaper in a corner
An old wooden guitar humming a tune
Without a guitarist
A shelf filled with books
Among it, ones that stood out
Were James Baldwin
And poems on Lenin.
Upon the shelf
A black and white photograph
Of his 15 years old love
Who somewhere in South Korea
Sailing backward in time
In search of a signature
Of early universe
What had he in common
With the painting
Hanging on his wall?
A painting,
Something to do
With the painter's mother
Which I heard the painter lost
When the strokes of his brush
Were not so strong.
Not so dark to see his hands
Stretching out in his sleep
To find his distant love.
His spectacles needed to dust
He hardly used it to look
At the far away hushes
Of her lips that moves in silence
Once I overheard him
Saying he doesn't really agree
With the meaning of sacrifice
But a soul, which sacrifices, is his.
He often reminds me of Hemmingway
When we talk of drinks
Darker the room gets
The more it becomes vivid
Like a first dawn
Seen by the prisoners after ages
want to fly to America
Daddy!
your daughter has become a lady
neither do i want to ask you for help
nor do i have enough money
to fly to the Brave New World..
neither am i impressed with the Statue of Liberty
nor do i care to pay homage to the twin towers..
i just want to listen to the words of his
neither does he recite poems of Shakespeare
nor does he sing like the nightingales
nor does he whisper in my ears
he just paints me with happiness
he just opens me up
like he dissect the roses in his lab
Oh! i want to fly
I want to fly to America
how i wish to have breakfast in America
with his Chinese tongue
speaking American english
sitting next to me
and me, a Manipuri
who has been scattered all over in India...
How complete that would be, Daddy?
your daughter has become a lady
neither do i want to ask you for help
nor do i have enough money
to fly to the Brave New World..
neither am i impressed with the Statue of Liberty
nor do i care to pay homage to the twin towers..
i just want to listen to the words of his
neither does he recite poems of Shakespeare
nor does he sing like the nightingales
nor does he whisper in my ears
he just paints me with happiness
he just opens me up
like he dissect the roses in his lab
Oh! i want to fly
I want to fly to America
how i wish to have breakfast in America
with his Chinese tongue
speaking American english
sitting next to me
and me, a Manipuri
who has been scattered all over in India...
How complete that would be, Daddy?
Winter, Newdelhi, 2007
I was half sunken into sleep.
the day was not so shitty
In this awful city
your call made me emerge
out of my blanket.
we talked, ,
i hardly heard you
i just talked
what i wanted to talk in my dream
we hung up...!
Soon hunger stabbed my stomach
so i tiptoed inside the kitchen like a cat
i found an egg
i found some ngari with green chili
so i whistled the rice in the cooker
like local trains of Delhi-Faridabad route
while the cooker was in charge of my rice
i read little magazine...
i read poems
i strummed guitar
i wanted to talk to you...
i was just hungry.....
still hungry my dear
these pockets are never filled
this heart is never touched by anything
without you! !
so i left my mustache unshaven
let it grow
let it sow
the seed of an artiste in my face
let there be traces of this phase
of my life, that a part is with you
.........
ngari - fermented fish eaten widely in north east part of India
the day was not so shitty
In this awful city
your call made me emerge
out of my blanket.
we talked, ,
i hardly heard you
i just talked
what i wanted to talk in my dream
we hung up...!
Soon hunger stabbed my stomach
so i tiptoed inside the kitchen like a cat
i found an egg
i found some ngari with green chili
so i whistled the rice in the cooker
like local trains of Delhi-Faridabad route
while the cooker was in charge of my rice
i read little magazine...
i read poems
i strummed guitar
i wanted to talk to you...
i was just hungry.....
still hungry my dear
these pockets are never filled
this heart is never touched by anything
without you! !
so i left my mustache unshaven
let it grow
let it sow
the seed of an artiste in my face
let there be traces of this phase
of my life, that a part is with you
.........
ngari - fermented fish eaten widely in north east part of India
I was stripped (Assam, 24th November, `07)
I was plucking tea
when the Brahmaputra river was overflowing.
nature brought justice to all.
so we suffered together.
Winter paved nature to Spring.
with my little hopes
outshining the green garden
i was singing, dancing and plucking Tea!
the city was celebrating everyday.
i could see its smoke rising.
men were spitting out beetle juice
walking with those shoes.....
the armies were ambushed.
the girls were taken away to be sold away.
my folks were singing our Adivashis' songs.
in the rhythm, i was still plucking Tea!
I walked out with my folks one day
out of my tea garden on the streets of the city
where people love the smell of my hand-plucked tea
i thought i was saved under the umbrella
But I was stripped, I was chased
I was kicked, i was dragged
I was running naked all over the city
With tears, with fear
these hands that plucked the tea covered my breast
i ran, watched by the eyes of the city...
Oh! these hands will never stretch out again for tea
Oh! these breast will not be milked but blood
when the Brahmaputra river was overflowing.
nature brought justice to all.
so we suffered together.
Winter paved nature to Spring.
with my little hopes
outshining the green garden
i was singing, dancing and plucking Tea!
the city was celebrating everyday.
i could see its smoke rising.
men were spitting out beetle juice
walking with those shoes.....
the armies were ambushed.
the girls were taken away to be sold away.
my folks were singing our Adivashis' songs.
in the rhythm, i was still plucking Tea!
I walked out with my folks one day
out of my tea garden on the streets of the city
where people love the smell of my hand-plucked tea
i thought i was saved under the umbrella
But I was stripped, I was chased
I was kicked, i was dragged
I was running naked all over the city
With tears, with fear
these hands that plucked the tea covered my breast
i ran, watched by the eyes of the city...
Oh! these hands will never stretch out again for tea
Oh! these breast will not be milked but blood
Liberated zone, Gujarat and the Pig's farm
For decades and decades
Genocide and foeticide
Like usual words on the newspapers
Printing, read away unnoticed like pepper
On breakfast plates
Of men who know no sweat.
The communists are turning into pigs
The pigs of the “Animal Farm”
Look at Nandigram
The pigs just sent the cadres like swan
To the land where the people have cried
Waiting for rain,
Cursing the piggy government
For being ignored
When the pigs wore
The tag “friends of the poor.”
Out of imitation
They fantasize of industrialization
Oh! Is that a civilization?
Or a definition of globalisation?
Oh your poor men needs no such piggy act
You will remain a scar in their lives
You will be remembered
When every peasant sings the harvest song
Inside the liberated zone,
People shiver with sweat
The Maoists knocks the door
Asking their sons to join the gun battle
In return the shivered hands hand out 500rs
When the shivered hands are paid
200rs per month.
At last with tears they depart their sons
To aim the Kalashnikovs down
At their own village
The cops are being ambushed
And left with words;
“It’s a war and forget winning,
We don’t even know how to fight it.”
The Maoists, they spell a true rebel
Still a threat to the poor men.
Some fled the camp and ran to Andhra
Where they worked as daily wager
They read of their own village being burnt
In the battle.
Boys with SLRs patrolling the streets
Where they should be playing cricket
Like every boys in the rest of country
(The above stanza is based on a recent article in Hindustan Times called 'Liberated Zone'. It is all about the truth and pain that the villagers suffer because of the Maoists. Most affected district of Chhattisgarh because of the rebels is Dantewada.)
The saffron turbaned man
Walking and preaching
The streets of Gandhi
Singing a lullaby to the ones
Who are already sleeping.
Gujarat! your priest Mr. Modi
Is not so Holy.
All he knows is playing Holi
With the mask he wears,
With your blood behind your veil
Gujarat, your fathers and mothers
Are resting looking at your colourful play.
On the red stained playground
You are sleeping after the play…
Don’t you smell blood?
Don’t the screams of death wake you up?
Don’t you feel the heat of the flame
That ceases yesterdays?
Oh! wake up before the preach baptize you.
Wake up! before they saffronize your thoughts.
Inside the stories, a story is still left to tell.
Underneath the ground a rusted needle is left,
A wrong foot will be pricked soon someday.
A flame in the middle is untouched and unseen
Its killing roar silences the passers by.
butterfly
While the sun was setting,
With a little sweet song
A melancholic song without words
She was grooming herself
With a smile on her lip
With a lipstick
Like a painter
Sitting in front of a painting.
While the cattle were heading homeward
And the girls were fetching water
She was wearing flowers in her hair
With or without a care of the darkness
Ahead that evening…
The flowers became alive
As they knew it is what they are for
While the tear was brimming in my eyes
She changed
Transformed from my love of her
That I died and cried
To make her my love forever
She prided on it
Like a virgin bride
She walked away
That very evening
She sang away
That melancholic song in the crowd
Leaving me alone
With the emptiness in the mirror
In which she left her sweet little wordless song.
I found the words were I in the mirror.
While the stars were twinkling
I waited for the song again
I waited for her heels to clank the marble floor
I waited for a sound of her bangles
But all that I sensed was silence
All that gave me some warmth was my own tears
My butterfly, she flew away
Leaving me colour blind
A melancholic song without words
She was grooming herself
With a smile on her lip
With a lipstick
Like a painter
Sitting in front of a painting.
While the cattle were heading homeward
And the girls were fetching water
She was wearing flowers in her hair
With or without a care of the darkness
Ahead that evening…
The flowers became alive
As they knew it is what they are for
While the tear was brimming in my eyes
She changed
Transformed from my love of her
That I died and cried
To make her my love forever
She prided on it
Like a virgin bride
She walked away
That very evening
She sang away
That melancholic song in the crowd
Leaving me alone
With the emptiness in the mirror
In which she left her sweet little wordless song.
I found the words were I in the mirror.
While the stars were twinkling
I waited for the song again
I waited for her heels to clank the marble floor
I waited for a sound of her bangles
But all that I sensed was silence
All that gave me some warmth was my own tears
My butterfly, she flew away
Leaving me colour blind
freedom
All I want is a freedom
To walk without being stopped
Or questioned
From spring to autumn
All I want is a season
To be naked in the sun
Standing in the middle of road
Reciting my own poem of freedom
All I want is to roam free
In my own land or country
Without being asked my identity
Or about my insanity
All I want is you
To walk away packing your bags
Zipping your mouth
Unloading your guns
Go to the place
Where people have lived their lives
Where they tell a good history to innocent sons
Where they pity us for being what we are…
They have worn our skin
In television, in newspapers and in books
With our broken hearted mothers
With flames that rose from every streets of my land
All I want is my poor men
Writing their own song to sing
Farming their own land to harvest
Bringing up the kids to plough the history
All I want is a good history to start
I have heard enough of rivers crying
I have found enough of death to live again
I have tried enough to rise, let me rise
To walk without being stopped
Or questioned
From spring to autumn
All I want is a season
To be naked in the sun
Standing in the middle of road
Reciting my own poem of freedom
All I want is to roam free
In my own land or country
Without being asked my identity
Or about my insanity
All I want is you
To walk away packing your bags
Zipping your mouth
Unloading your guns
Go to the place
Where people have lived their lives
Where they tell a good history to innocent sons
Where they pity us for being what we are…
They have worn our skin
In television, in newspapers and in books
With our broken hearted mothers
With flames that rose from every streets of my land
All I want is my poor men
Writing their own song to sing
Farming their own land to harvest
Bringing up the kids to plough the history
All I want is a good history to start
I have heard enough of rivers crying
I have found enough of death to live again
I have tried enough to rise, let me rise
She (fades)
Nights after nights
Dreams slip away from her sleep
all that remains are black and white
silent and motionless dream
the body aches in her sleep
the shoulder cups those strange chins
tears fighting against the sweats
but defeated hundred times
it just falls on the innocent face
stained with the smell of stink breaths
she serves with tears and her body
while the priest serves with words
she is crucified on her bed
with her yellow blouse open
while Jesus is scented with flowers
and with rich men's wives inside the church
She was left alone
when the world celebrated
its globalisation
they will be her company again
when there is a storm inside them
when no hands know how to grab the dicks
when no site seeing glitters their eyes
And so she waits for a good meal
without a smile on her lips
without hunger to survive any longer
but with tears spreading her world
where rich men drown....
Dreams slip away from her sleep
all that remains are black and white
silent and motionless dream
the body aches in her sleep
the shoulder cups those strange chins
tears fighting against the sweats
but defeated hundred times
it just falls on the innocent face
stained with the smell of stink breaths
she serves with tears and her body
while the priest serves with words
she is crucified on her bed
with her yellow blouse open
while Jesus is scented with flowers
and with rich men's wives inside the church
She was left alone
when the world celebrated
its globalisation
they will be her company again
when there is a storm inside them
when no hands know how to grab the dicks
when no site seeing glitters their eyes
And so she waits for a good meal
without a smile on her lips
without hunger to survive any longer
but with tears spreading her world
where rich men drown....
funeral of ronid
I went to the funeral of my friend;
the soldiers were shooting in the air
perhaps they were aiming at his soul
which broke free from being victim
still they were not leaving him
the trumpets were soaring high
the drums were banging
his daughter was confused
whether to mourn or get away
from the devil eyes
His wife in white in tears
rolling and tossing on the ground
like she had been forced
oh! there is no such pain like death
to whom you love when you die..
“not the pictures,
not the memories
just take me along as i am
Oh! my love! my man!
take me with you
take me as i am. ”
the soldiers were shooting in the air
perhaps they were aiming at his soul
which broke free from being victim
still they were not leaving him
the trumpets were soaring high
the drums were banging
his daughter was confused
whether to mourn or get away
from the devil eyes
His wife in white in tears
rolling and tossing on the ground
like she had been forced
oh! there is no such pain like death
to whom you love when you die..
“not the pictures,
not the memories
just take me along as i am
Oh! my love! my man!
take me with you
take me as i am. ”
Epitaph
The wind is calm and the rain is drizzling.
The sun is half sunken into the mountains
The shallow river is black like hiding beneath a veil
Only the sound of streaming pebbles towards its flow
Water droplets dripping from the banyan leaves
Dripping on the road where you lie
With a knife, stabbed, on your back.
Every falling droplet is a ticking of time
For your losing soul.
You hear a sound of boots
Stepping on the road, ahead of you.
You lift your head with such pain that you moan.
Your hand against the pool of blood, from your heart,
Helping you to put yourself upward to see an old friend
Your eyes squeeze in surprise to see an old enemy friend
You seem to recall your words;
“To kill your enemy you have to make friends.”
Every footstep I make, you slip backward.
Your life is running out on this very road you ruled
I walk closer and closer.
You seem helpless but still spitting blood on my boots.
But this time your aim is not as good as earlier
(You used to love spitting on my face…)
You seem surprise to see my empty hands
To help you grab back your half death life…
I smile like I see a stranger on a road to a funeral.
(Yes! It is indeed a funeral)
You are silent like a lamb but fills with shame and fear
You know I carry a revolver with six bullets in it
Anyone of it is written with your name you know
But I am not triggering it anymore to blow your head
Your tears seem honest enough and your hands tremble
I take you back to life like soldiers helping another in war.
You are grateful to me
I wash you with hot water
While you tell me who stabbed you
You tell me your bones shivered
When the tip of the knife drills through it…
I too know how it feels
So you say “thank you”
But you know no words are needed to me
I have been numb for years
There are layers of hatred and pain covering my bare heart
Nothing can prick me except with blood in my own hands
We go on!
My smiles are not telling you anything about past
My bullets are no more aiming at your heart
You seem to love my hut and running on the empty fields
You are back to the friend I loved once
You cook we eat together
I dig a pool we hide from the sun together
Over a cup of tea
We argue of things we have never argued before
With a cup of tea
We browse the newspaper skipping the front page
The front page is for your disappearance
Disappearance of a young man who steals publicly
Disappearance of a friend who kill friends
Disappearance of a lover who steals human thought
Disappearance of a pretender and traitor
Disappearance of a public figure with many responsibilities
Over a cup of tea
They must be wondering for your death body
Over a cup of tea
You tell me your story why you don’t want to go back
As if I know nothing of you
I smile; you know what a smile can mean.
Days gone by,
Season changes, I change
Clouds drifting from dull sky to clearer sky
Birds flying, leaves falling,
Tears crying somewhere
I change like a potter’s pot
From sphere to cylinder
From thick cup to large and tall flower vase
But I remain clay
Earlier soft, now hard and seasoned in fire
So over a cup of tea
I shoot you down with all six bullets
The newspaper is all splattered with your blood
I cover your face not to see
The smile I brought back on your lips
I burry you in the pool
I dug where we hide from the sun together
Mother earth has swallowed you!
I put a tombstone above you
With an epitaph of my own bloody hand;
“To kill an enemy
You have to make friends.
Hope you rest in peace.
Ghost of This land, William the Preach.
Expired on 28th, October, 2007
Revelation is not expected
Brutally shot with six bullets.”
I am leaving you all alone underneath this soil
I know you are loving it
After the heated six fired bullets is inside you.
You are tamed now
Like a new born calf being held and roped.
I turn my head and turn on my radio.
White noise! …Then
Old Woody Guthrie is singing Tom Joad;
“They stood on a mountain and they looked to the west,
And it looked like the Promised Land.
That bright green valley with a river running through,
There was work for every single hand, they thought,
There was work for every single hand.”
PS : The last five lines are taken from Woody Guthrie's "Tom Joad."
The sun is half sunken into the mountains
The shallow river is black like hiding beneath a veil
Only the sound of streaming pebbles towards its flow
Water droplets dripping from the banyan leaves
Dripping on the road where you lie
With a knife, stabbed, on your back.
Every falling droplet is a ticking of time
For your losing soul.
You hear a sound of boots
Stepping on the road, ahead of you.
You lift your head with such pain that you moan.
Your hand against the pool of blood, from your heart,
Helping you to put yourself upward to see an old friend
Your eyes squeeze in surprise to see an old enemy friend
You seem to recall your words;
“To kill your enemy you have to make friends.”
Every footstep I make, you slip backward.
Your life is running out on this very road you ruled
I walk closer and closer.
You seem helpless but still spitting blood on my boots.
But this time your aim is not as good as earlier
(You used to love spitting on my face…)
You seem surprise to see my empty hands
To help you grab back your half death life…
I smile like I see a stranger on a road to a funeral.
(Yes! It is indeed a funeral)
You are silent like a lamb but fills with shame and fear
You know I carry a revolver with six bullets in it
Anyone of it is written with your name you know
But I am not triggering it anymore to blow your head
Your tears seem honest enough and your hands tremble
I take you back to life like soldiers helping another in war.
You are grateful to me
I wash you with hot water
While you tell me who stabbed you
You tell me your bones shivered
When the tip of the knife drills through it…
I too know how it feels
So you say “thank you”
But you know no words are needed to me
I have been numb for years
There are layers of hatred and pain covering my bare heart
Nothing can prick me except with blood in my own hands
We go on!
My smiles are not telling you anything about past
My bullets are no more aiming at your heart
You seem to love my hut and running on the empty fields
You are back to the friend I loved once
You cook we eat together
I dig a pool we hide from the sun together
Over a cup of tea
We argue of things we have never argued before
With a cup of tea
We browse the newspaper skipping the front page
The front page is for your disappearance
Disappearance of a young man who steals publicly
Disappearance of a friend who kill friends
Disappearance of a lover who steals human thought
Disappearance of a pretender and traitor
Disappearance of a public figure with many responsibilities
Over a cup of tea
They must be wondering for your death body
Over a cup of tea
You tell me your story why you don’t want to go back
As if I know nothing of you
I smile; you know what a smile can mean.
Days gone by,
Season changes, I change
Clouds drifting from dull sky to clearer sky
Birds flying, leaves falling,
Tears crying somewhere
I change like a potter’s pot
From sphere to cylinder
From thick cup to large and tall flower vase
But I remain clay
Earlier soft, now hard and seasoned in fire
So over a cup of tea
I shoot you down with all six bullets
The newspaper is all splattered with your blood
I cover your face not to see
The smile I brought back on your lips
I burry you in the pool
I dug where we hide from the sun together
Mother earth has swallowed you!
I put a tombstone above you
With an epitaph of my own bloody hand;
“To kill an enemy
You have to make friends.
Hope you rest in peace.
Ghost of This land, William the Preach.
Expired on 28th, October, 2007
Revelation is not expected
Brutally shot with six bullets.”
I am leaving you all alone underneath this soil
I know you are loving it
After the heated six fired bullets is inside you.
You are tamed now
Like a new born calf being held and roped.
I turn my head and turn on my radio.
White noise! …Then
Old Woody Guthrie is singing Tom Joad;
“They stood on a mountain and they looked to the west,
And it looked like the Promised Land.
That bright green valley with a river running through,
There was work for every single hand, they thought,
There was work for every single hand.”
PS : The last five lines are taken from Woody Guthrie's "Tom Joad."
Clown in their Circus
He came, down and low
like he was robbed, he looked pale
and hungry but he said he was fine
he told me he came to see me
yes! I am the clown in their circus.
he said he found a lyrics
on a dashboard in his dream
he wanted me to sing it out loud
with all my moves and breathes
Oh! I was not paid for it
still i did it 'cos
i felt it was part of my existence
he went home singing:
“revolution is all you need
just don't eat what they throw at you”
She came, laughing and singing
like a school girl being driven home
from a hard lesson by an old teacher
she lit up a cigarette
and took a puff of smoke
every time she forgot the song
she passed me the smoke
i inhaled it and soon i realized
i am the clown in their circus
she too found a bottle of Russian Vodka
from her rich world.
Soon we became high
higher than any clouds of Meghalaya
so i sang “Everybody must get stoned”
yes! She too left singing:
“Every body must get stoned”
throwing her long black hair
back in autumn's mild wind..
Oh! there came another existing soul
he or she by that time, i did not care
the soul was hungry
i stole an egg from my neighbor's fridge
i boiled it and threw some salt and pepper on it
than it was fed, soon a cup of tea followed the egg
i sang the soul “i am the clown in their circus”
like he was robbed, he looked pale
and hungry but he said he was fine
he told me he came to see me
yes! I am the clown in their circus.
he said he found a lyrics
on a dashboard in his dream
he wanted me to sing it out loud
with all my moves and breathes
Oh! I was not paid for it
still i did it 'cos
i felt it was part of my existence
he went home singing:
“revolution is all you need
just don't eat what they throw at you”
She came, laughing and singing
like a school girl being driven home
from a hard lesson by an old teacher
she lit up a cigarette
and took a puff of smoke
every time she forgot the song
she passed me the smoke
i inhaled it and soon i realized
i am the clown in their circus
she too found a bottle of Russian Vodka
from her rich world.
Soon we became high
higher than any clouds of Meghalaya
so i sang “Everybody must get stoned”
yes! She too left singing:
“Every body must get stoned”
throwing her long black hair
back in autumn's mild wind..
Oh! there came another existing soul
he or she by that time, i did not care
the soul was hungry
i stole an egg from my neighbor's fridge
i boiled it and threw some salt and pepper on it
than it was fed, soon a cup of tea followed the egg
i sang the soul “i am the clown in their circus”
my little mad child
It is for you!!
Every time I turn on the light
You run away
I can see your tails being stuck
Smell of your wet hair
Fills me and drown me
In your memories..
Tell me one reason
Why you love to run
When you say you want me
In a very Dylan way
Like I am the north country girl
Like I am the sun in Mozambique
Like I am the dune on the beach
Like I am the tambourine man
For your sleeplessness
Or you wait for the saxophone
To blow by Knopfler
Under the blue Ocean
Or you want me to ride a horse
Upon a saddle and come saying
Picking a garland
This is what you left along the road
To your poetic friends and rich world
Once we bought it, you remember!!
Oh! funny is life
Oh! sunny are the days to come
Horny are the words inside clothes
Silly are the innocent ways we were .
Where is the end to start
You just leave before we end
You just puke before i feed
I just die before we lie
Every time I turn on the light
You run away
I can see your tails being stuck
Smell of your wet hair
Fills me and drown me
In your memories..
Tell me one reason
Why you love to run
When you say you want me
In a very Dylan way
Like I am the north country girl
Like I am the sun in Mozambique
Like I am the dune on the beach
Like I am the tambourine man
For your sleeplessness
Or you wait for the saxophone
To blow by Knopfler
Under the blue Ocean
Or you want me to ride a horse
Upon a saddle and come saying
Picking a garland
This is what you left along the road
To your poetic friends and rich world
Once we bought it, you remember!!
Oh! funny is life
Oh! sunny are the days to come
Horny are the words inside clothes
Silly are the innocent ways we were .
Where is the end to start
You just leave before we end
You just puke before i feed
I just die before we lie
American Dollar
about me
they die and lie
for me
they fight and cry
about me
they prostitute the child
for me
they suck the lives
about me
the newspaper prints
for me
they come and go
about me
they roll up the collars
for me
they are not capitalist
for me
they are costumers
i am a widower
left alone to prostitute
to substitute
whores and boars
i am the american dollar
they die and lie
for me
they fight and cry
about me
they prostitute the child
for me
they suck the lives
about me
the newspaper prints
for me
they come and go
about me
they roll up the collars
for me
they are not capitalist
for me
they are costumers
i am a widower
left alone to prostitute
to substitute
whores and boars
i am the american dollar
A widower, I am
I am not heard
As I am hurt
As I am hurt
I am so silent
Like those mountains
I am not fine
As I miss my old wine
My company was she
When I walked and slept
She tickled me
With her fingers on my hips
She flickered her cigar
Till the ashes filled the fish jar
All it was I
Who saw things between my eyes
Never knew myself
Like those books on the Wiseman shelves
It is all me
Tossing and rolling in this sleep
The widower I am
It is only I
Looking out for a better goodbye
I walk
They look around for her
But no one shows up
I talk
They wait for her name
But my tongue misses it out
I sleep
The dream comes
But all black like crow
I eat
They serve me the Lebanese rolls
I miss the taste and the cream
I drink
But I miss the fire
It is all I now
Who made her say
She is weak like a thin twig
She sobbed
I knew it was not she
It was meant to teach me
Something I had not learnt
In this life of 26 years
I said it is just a chapter
She said don't flatter
And she lost me
Akhu's Protest Blues
I have seen people burnt to death
They watched lamenting, “it is indeed sad”
I have seen gunmen snatching money
In the name of revolution, Oh! It is funny
Even some activists turning to fundamentalists
What to wear and not, Oh! Not so socialist
What to drink and not, Oh! I am so pissed
Even they want the motors to howl with the scripts
The madness of fanaticism is in its peak
I have heard of activists going to Geneva
To see the place and back with sweeter saliva
I have read writers and essayists
Who live in one-dimensional universe,
I forgive them they have lesser idea of Physics
My own drunken green men are still strayed and barking
On the very streets where their folks protested..
Before my hey days are over
I am going to load my gun
It is not fun
Anymore
Watching the whores-like
Politicians and gunmen
Robbing me and my woman
I am going to protest in my thong
Under Samu-Makhong
Whoever that comes closer with boots
I am going to shoot
I will ask my percentage
From every breath they take, they are ass!!
I protest against the politicians
Wish I could make them run naked
To see how fatty their asses are
I protest against the magician-like builders
They can not let it stand straight and tall
When a neutrino passes it is going to fall
When there is a piercing of virgin it is going to fall
I protest against the gunmen
They do not deserve a gun but a pinch of sand
Not even a yard of land in this land to stand
I protest against the cops
Wish I could turn them to corpses
Yes!
I am a burning candle
Trying to lit a volcano
I am a broken bangle
Trying to set her free
I am the jingle
That starts after the end
I am the singer
Who sings this song of protest…
Kill me before
I kill you
They watched lamenting, “it is indeed sad”
I have seen gunmen snatching money
In the name of revolution, Oh! It is funny
Even some activists turning to fundamentalists
What to wear and not, Oh! Not so socialist
What to drink and not, Oh! I am so pissed
Even they want the motors to howl with the scripts
The madness of fanaticism is in its peak
I have heard of activists going to Geneva
To see the place and back with sweeter saliva
I have read writers and essayists
Who live in one-dimensional universe,
I forgive them they have lesser idea of Physics
My own drunken green men are still strayed and barking
On the very streets where their folks protested..
Before my hey days are over
I am going to load my gun
It is not fun
Anymore
Watching the whores-like
Politicians and gunmen
Robbing me and my woman
I am going to protest in my thong
Under Samu-Makhong
Whoever that comes closer with boots
I am going to shoot
I will ask my percentage
From every breath they take, they are ass!!
I protest against the politicians
Wish I could make them run naked
To see how fatty their asses are
I protest against the magician-like builders
They can not let it stand straight and tall
When a neutrino passes it is going to fall
When there is a piercing of virgin it is going to fall
I protest against the gunmen
They do not deserve a gun but a pinch of sand
Not even a yard of land in this land to stand
I protest against the cops
Wish I could turn them to corpses
Yes!
I am a burning candle
Trying to lit a volcano
I am a broken bangle
Trying to set her free
I am the jingle
That starts after the end
I am the singer
Who sings this song of protest…
Kill me before
I kill you
A New World: Maria
Now we came to a good end where we both agree to New World. Maria's coming back leads to a new world where no blood shed revolutions exist and no to poverty. We both know this is something impossible but for the sack of pleasing ourselves, who are well affected by unseen things happening around, we just come to this end unknowingly.
And this was written by my friend:
enough to create a new world,
without fear hate or deceit..
where fathers do not die,
with bullets in their head and dreams in their eyes.
A new world,
where an eternal spring,
blossoms in unending green,
where rivers flow filled with elexar
and winds bring changes of prosperity.
A new world
where my friend you and me,
sit together and share a laugh
watching rainbows which span the mountain.
The same atmosphere
same mountains
same people
brightened with gloss of brilliance,
which maria can bring
And this was written by my friend:
enough to create a new world,
without fear hate or deceit..
where fathers do not die,
with bullets in their head and dreams in their eyes.
A new world,
where an eternal spring,
blossoms in unending green,
where rivers flow filled with elexar
and winds bring changes of prosperity.
A new world
where my friend you and me,
sit together and share a laugh
watching rainbows which span the mountain.
The same atmosphere
same mountains
same people
brightened with gloss of brilliance,
which maria can bring
Maria is enough
My reply:
she searched her soul
found it thousand times
she hit the same atmosphere
same mountains
same people cupping their chins
with their awful hands
Maria knows no sacrifice
she is programed
and following her selfish genes
implanted on her breathe
yeah things cant be destroyed
you have to make them to ashes
and wash it away
indeed it is the way
Maria knows exactly
what is she upto
not a hand not a word
of sympathy she needs
she is enough
she searched her soul
found it thousand times
she hit the same atmosphere
same mountains
same people cupping their chins
with their awful hands
Maria knows no sacrifice
she is programed
and following her selfish genes
implanted on her breathe
yeah things cant be destroyed
you have to make them to ashes
and wash it away
indeed it is the way
Maria knows exactly
what is she upto
not a hand not a word
of sympathy she needs
she is enough
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