again we choke

Again we choke
this time for the Sardar Hills

last time it was for something
im not remembering anything
as i am choking dying

i see the potatoes rolling
up and down
in the hills and valley
boasting around for its price

I see some of the people
worrying bout Anna's fast
when the highways
have been blocked
reminding them
they are not part of this country

let me buy a bowl of rice
whenever i want at the right price
before i die

Accept me with all my blood
and history if you want me
as your country man

dont tell me Im not choking
when you fast not for me

Economics

you buy cars
you build houses
why? why?
look at that pull-cart puller
at day time he sells vegetables on it
at night he sleeps on it
under the moonlight

haven't you learnt
anything about Economics?


lost my big heart

to worry
about
all the people
i know
i thought
i had a big heart
But that little girl
with the tiny eyes
at Dhanaulti
she took away
my big heart
squeezing herself
inside
that very
conjested Tata Sumo.
and i came
back to this city
with no heart
No wonder,
I hate you all now

dont you dream of me

dont you dream of me?
I often dream of you
with a thin and rich handsome man
you two read each other your atm bills
like poetry we read together
in many sleepless nights

if your dream of me
please be it the ones of making love with you
i miss your body
I miss the touch of your golden chain on my chest
I miss you

Even in dreams
i fail to make love with you

in between

Between you and me
there are fifteen odd states
in this country dying
of poverty
killing each other for land and a bread loaf
and how can you just only see me and
tell me "you are the only one i love"

between you and me
there are thousands of automobiles and trains
mountains and rivers..
how can you still smell me and tell me
im lying when i say i dont love you

between you and me
there are hundred of handsome
and richer men who write correct English
who always carry condoms in their wallet
who look up the sky when they talk
even about small things like napkins
making every moment filmy
dont you love filmy moment?


between you and me
there are good poetry bad poetry
but none of them are of you or me
they are of old lovers
who died holding their hands
when they became eighty
but not for you and me
who believe not in love
but who love love

do not die my children

Do not die my children
on your way back home from school
this is a valley of corpses already
run by devils with guns
they preach your death in their propaganda
their politics is to kill you if you are innocent

Do not die my children
on your way back home from school
when you grow up
do not vote for this government
do not let this war mongers swim in your pond
they all love to drink your blood

for her

i heard of you falling in love
as u talk to me only when you fall in love
with some one else

but today it seems
no lovers of yours write you poems
such lousy poems

may be you are gone long ago
but you are stuck in my poems
dont blame me for this

we may not say hello
but if you find a poem somewhere:D
talking of yellow, thats for you from me

Choose one


all I need is a matchstick
but i have to choose 
which one to light;
this university
or this last cigarette

i know too many of them


I know too many rebels
who write long letters to the Prime Minister
when even love letters are not working
and I have got a problem with them

I know too many poets
who say they just write like that
but think they are the best
and i have got problem with them too

I know too many fathers
who say their sons will save this land
when they know it is not gonna happen
and i have got a problem with them too

I know too many lovers
who promise summer in winter
just before copulation
and i do that too, so no problem

As i grow older


As i grow older
i lose many friends
some of them through my punch
some of them through my politics
some of them through my poems

Im now left with very few
as i grow older
i will lose them all
and i will find myself alone
on my dying bed someday

they call me an activist


Most of my nights i am drunk
most of the my days i am asleep
and they call me an activist..

Now
I am not surprised
Obama got nobel peace prize

the economist


The economist is a good economist
he has a good looking daughter
with well combed hair
sometimes they are oiled too

he writes weekly in the Newspaper
except that i stop reading it
as news of raping prostitutes
have been reduced

He is a good fren of armies
he listens to them carefully
and never forgets to ask for Jack Daniels
He is a good economist

He listen to them say
“your state needs more BSF ”
He shakes hands with them
He makes fren with revolutionary too

He is a good economist
He knows both the sides
He writes good english
He earns good money

He manages seminars in the University,
about the State being freed from Militarization,
where there is an Army Camp
He sees students among armies everyday

Highway 39, 37 is his topic of writing
Sometimes he praised the Cheif Minister
saying there had never been anyone like the current one
Never forgetting how to become VC of the University


Some people were born artists


Some people were born artists
in rich family
they buy expensive cameras
and take pictures of Children in Slums
and exhibit in galleries...
and the critics say “Mumbai , Delh, has been exposed
thru shutter speed of blah blah blah”

i always wanted to be an artist

She wears one


She is a feminist
with big breasts
we have poetry reading together
once a month in her University
when she reads hers
she uses her hands
She performs poetry

Her breasts hang like ripe mangoes
that once i plucked in my neighbor's garden
she being a feminist
i wonder does she wear bras or not?...
but looking at her breasts
i convince myself she doesnt wear one
cos i know when they hang they really hang
No difference between fruit and breast
Gravity works the same everywhere on everything


rain


God is likely to piss over us
for what i said
about killing him
with a broken bottle of beer
No one of you
shudn't walk out
from ur houses
i take the blame
it is all for me
I will face it..
i will gulp it down
like whiskey nights

feeling like orgasm


while sitting
on the stair
cursing this city
for its weather
Suddenly u feel
a cool breeze
aaaaaaaaahhhhh!
it is like
one of those
instant orgasm
inside the bus
seeing
a middle aged woman's
small angled breasts


No one is inviting me


No one is talking to me about poetry
have they all really become poets?
No one is asking me about my ex lover
Have they known the truth?
No one is inviting me to protest events
have they stopped protesting at all?
No one is inviting me to dinner or lunch or party
have they seen me drinking like fish thos free drinks?
No one is talking about AFSPA
Does it mean ANIMALS FUCK SOME PEOPLE ALSO?
No one is talking about Manipuri Literature
Have they all been bought by Sanjay Hajarika?
No one is talking about teen sex
were they all born losing their virginities?
No one is talking of Art
Have they stopped calling their fart art?
No professor is calling me
Have they known I flirt with their wives?



nice neighbor


Life without sugar in kitchen
is not bitter at all
if u have a nice neighbour..

An appointment with the doctor


“your report says you are 29”
“yes”
“Oh my boy! U gonna catch that old fashioned disease TB
you are too young to have it”
“Im actually 30”
“why did you lie”
“thats what we do in schools we filled the form one year or two year younger
we have been taught how to lie from schools”
“if you dont take rest for a month or so...u surely gonna catch TB..by the way what do you do?...it seemed like u do some heavy works..”
“Im a reasearch scholar”
“what do u research on?”
“aah... about Universe the stars the galaxy....”
“so u use telescope and all ..how heavy are telescopes ,,,do u often lift them up and play with it? Ur report seems to tell me u do some heavy work...”
“i dont use telescope”
“then how do u study stars?”
“i do maths ,,,,algebra to study”
“oh ...do u think u r some kinda god to study stars without looking at it...?,,,what else do you do?”
“aaaahhhh i write poetry too”
“ahhh Kabita!”
“yes”
“what do you write about?”
“ write about me ..about things i observe...about things i hate///abou things that betray me”
“I thought poetry is about feeling,,,but urs seem to do a lot with only THINGS......
what time do u sleep and wat time do u get up”
“nothing particular....I am insomniac...i sleep sometimes very early...sometimes dont sleep at all”
“thats bad..u have to sleep in time...u have to follow a routine...”
“i know”
“then why?”
“just cant...i dont know why..i am seasoned to this cycle....”
“is it poetry and the THING that makes u sleepless ”
“may be I dont know”
“but u shud know if u keep living that kinda life u surely gonn die with TB”
“hmmmmm.....so TB is a good company of poetry....but i have never heard a poet suffering from TB”
“so what? U gonna be the first one”
“I will try to change my routine....”
“good...”
“it is not only poetry that makes me sleeepless....there is music too”
“oh! U think of Music too”
“yes,,,a lot...”
“what type of music? Rafi's suhani raat? Bollywood item songs?”
“No...my music”
“your music....???”
“yes i play music....i sing a bit too...”
“what do u sing about?,,,is it again the THING?”
“i sing about Manipur, Kashmir, Binayak sen,etc”
“what is Binayak Sen?”
“it is a person's name...he is a great doctor like you,,,he listens to poor people..he treats them free..he was arrested by Chattisgarh police framing as a Maoist ”
“i thot he must be related to bollywood like konkona sen or riya sen....and waht do u sing of Manipur...? ”
“I sing about Irom Sharmila and other issues”
“who is she?”
“she is woman who has been on hunger strike for last ten years demanding of the repeal of AFSPA”
“how is she still surviving? And what is AFSPA?”
“She is in police custody and being forced fed thru her nose....AFSPA allows u to kill over suspicions...many civilians have been killled”
“Ok...what do u get out of singing all thiese thing?”
“Nothing”
“then why?....dont worry now u gonna get TB”
“you know what NOTHING is what exactly u live for....u live for NOTHING....I get TB free but I live for what i believe...and By the way TB doesnt kill these days,,,u may be a doctor but i know it too....I have taken too much of ur time....call ur next patient who may be living for NOTHING like you do...”

just another Bday


After months
I took out
my Bata leather chappals
and walked it to the Cobbler
he fixed it and polished it
i dropped 20 bucks
and walked back home
singng “English man in new york”
across the shitty slum
i slipped over a half eaten banana
and tore my slipper again
again i walked limping
to the cobbler
and dropped ten bucks again
he fixed it
and i walked back home
looking at ground silently
singing nothing
and a five hundred ruppee note
found me...
and i went straight to the liquor shop
called the day my birthday
and talked to few artists...
what kinda artists i dont remember