KAPIL ARAMBAM • In Pursuit of Freedom •

High Proverbs: Version 2.0

Proverbs are super-saver! Each saying, twined with wit and wisdom, is like a picture telling one thousand words. And when some of them are wordplayed with weed, grass & co, it tells a couple of extra thousand words. It never gets better! Never say never. You will see it yourself from these bong-ed proverbs. Parental advisory: Explicit graphics. But there is no real restriction though; it’s a free world.







Check High Proverbs: Version 1.0


High Proverbs: Version 1.0

Proverbs are super-saver! Each saying, twined with wit and wisdom, is like a picture telling one thousand words. And when some of them are wordplayed with weed, grass & co, it tells a couple of extra thousand words. It never gets better! Never say never. You will see it yourself from these bong-ed proverbs. Parental advisory: Explicit graphics. But there is no real restriction though; it’s a free world.







Check High Proverbs: Version 2.0


Mahmoud Darwish’s Identity Card (a poem)


Mahmoud Darwish (13 March 1941 – 9 August 2008) was a Palestinian poet and author who won numerous awards for his literary output and was regarded as the Palestinian national poet. In his work, Palestine became a metaphor for the loss of Eden, birth and resurrection, and the anguish of dispossession and exile. He has been described as incarnating and reflecting ‘the tradition of the political poet in Islam, the man of action whose action is poetry’.  (Text source: Wikipedia)

The following poem is one of his best known pieces.  

Identity Card


The poet's passport
Image from The Mahmoud Darwish Foundation (http://www.darwishfoundation.org)



2/2 Pun-filled Sunday!

b) pun (pʌn)

n., v. punned, pun•ning. n.
1. the humorous use of a word or phrase so as to emphasize or suggest its different meanings or applications, or the use of words that are alike or nearly alike in sound but different in meaning; a play on words.
2. a word or phrase used in this way.
v.i.
3. to make puns.





1/2 Pun-filled Sunday!

a) pun  (pŭn)
n.
A play on words, sometimes on different senses of the same word and sometimes on the similar sense or sound of different words.
intr.v. punned, pun·ning, puns
To make puns or a pun.







What Makes What?

What makes mountains the mountains?
What makes the colourful spring clouds the colourful spring cloud?

What makes whisky the whisky?
What makes guns the gun?
What makes money the money?
What makes cows the cow?
What makes India the India?
What makes the world the world?

What makes government college teachers who preach about the right to self-determination the government college teachers who preach about the right to self-determination—sucking up and letting themselves sucked up?

What makes people who are out on the street every time the government miss one step to cover up its asses the people who are always out on the street every time the government miss one step to cover up its asses—taking money, kissing asses, wiping out every bit of decency that we have or at least that we pretend to have?

What makes connoisseurs of the seedy local art that calls itself the Ras Lila the connoisseur of the seedy local art that calls itself the Ras Lila—just because its self-styled artistic story goes well along with that of the masters’, while the shitty art for bloody shit’s sake means nothing, implies nothing, signifies nothing but the desire of mass orgy and the common perverts’ aspiration of taking part in a ten-hour long pornographic film?  

It is only human who call themselves humans—it is only us who call ourselves the human.



Illustrated Apologia for the Anti-social Folk

Nothing is absolute in our universe. Nothing is perfect.

So be what you want to be (except an asshole). Perhaps it is as well quite relative an issue to be an asshole, considering the number of such people in our lives and surroundings. They are perfectly doing fine, save who they truly are!

Similarly the attributes of social-mindedness and antisocial mentality, despite their diametrical meanings, are merely comparative. In the name of social-mindedness, so much water of grease and grime have streamed down the Nambul river. In the name of asocial lives, well, the lesser the said the better. At the end of the day, it only matters how much alive you are now and for the next day.













m/s dark generation & co.


an old man worries about his advancing years
a hundred walks to the BT Park only makes
the statue taller, his life only shorter
nostalgia is the only comfort: his dead wife knew it well
but her life was as empty as my dreams

his son, the father, is the father of the land—he says;
this father has every song for every drinking den in the valley
he is the president of a thousand joint action committees
of murders and robberies and more murders and more robberies
while every morning brings a new stale day of nothingness

and the younger wife takes solace in motherhood
as if it counts in the cocoon of assault rifles and heroin
she can be ignored and things that make her life are all absurdities
like putting a goddess on the high pedestal, she has been;
at such height it is at anybody’s reach to curse her

and their two brain-dead kids, probably high
they talk about spanish football clubs
they talk about the number-one pop star in korea
the world is not fair and they have proven it; but none matters
i’m just a lifeless gas-less lighter, lost and listless

concluded.

read a related article: All in the Family
http://kapilarambam.blogspot.in/2013/03/all-in-family.html

Kaalen Haiku Kandrang Haiku


 
My eyes had seen it
And nobody believed it,
My life’s illusion.


The masters and slaves
The gunmen and crap-nations,
Bland haiku and I.


Always the bright side:
The cats face the sun promptly,
The gods toward gold.


As if one’s not nuff
As if a thousand would do,
Factions and schism.


The shooting squad stands
With eyes blindfolded, mouth gagged;
Guiltless captives flee.


What do you call them,
Folk with butts on their faces?
MLAs, my friend.


What’s the difference
Mercenaries and robbers?
Ask our government.

 
Thieves kill the rebels
Then hitmen kill the thieves
Hail the killer-king!


Today it’s Patsoi
Last night it was Sagolband,
The cycle rides on.


An eye for an eye
A bullet for a bullet,
Your wonderful world.


Unconditional
Selfless—the wise men preach love;
Yongchaak and my girl.



read more haiku on this blog: haiku haiyoba



On the Last Day of the Earth in Imphal

A translation of Laishram Samarendra’s Imphalda Prithivigi Aroiba Numitta from the collection, Khul Amagi Wari, published in 1985. The best part of Samarendra’s poems is his Manipuri colloquial style but it is difficult to maintain it per se in this translation, only on account of my lack of expertise.


As earnestly we expected
This time is 100%ly sure; it is the end of the world
Let’s chant the text from the scripture
Let’s chant the text.

An Earth there will never ever be
Again there will never ever be, very soon
All the truth and all the reality and all the beauty
—All will be gone
All the artificial wonders and all the natural wonders,
Time is impartial and are we going to lose them all,
All the beautiful brooks and rivers and forests and lakes and flowers
All the beautiful cities and buildings and houses and the Taj Mahal
Every Shakespeare’s magical works, every Kalidas’ masterpieces;
Oh, it has been all futile and it is all nada and it is all going to end
Useless are those books and religion and truth and peace
Knowledge and science and Buddha and profound thoughts
All will be one and all the truth and all the falsehood will be gone
Purity and impurity and beauty and ugly
The world will be gone tomorrow.

My house, my drawing room
My sofa, my dining table
My terrace corridor, my garden
My lockers, refrigerators, stainless steel utensils
My bronze from Tanjore;

My Japanese camera, my bank balance
My wife, my kid, my son Tomba though he did nothing
My wife, my kid, my money, my bank balance

Just as the Japanese bombed and destroyed Imphal
Just as the fire that engulfed Imphal
Some people fled and some people, the rich people, did stayed on.

Now the inmates vandalise the prison
Stronger are the people who can destroy the Khwairamband market
A matter of do-or-die it is and why would I be afraid?

In black the smoke moves up from government offices
In the fire are the piles of cash books and registers and ledgers
The cashiers and the clerks has had a happy life
Only the fools are fooled and the poor becoming only poorer
And some people they flee from the engulfing smoke
And the others they fleece and last out, never contented.

Some people did not flee in the Seven Years’ Devastation!
Some people did not flee in the Japanese onslaught!
Now some people are not running away.

On this last day of the Earth!
The timid mortals put their shutter down and hide
The brave brethrens scamper for their lives in all direction
Everybody was in a whirlpool of motion
And the elected representatives appropriate the lands and shops,
The election losers run around and borrow from everybody
And they take grants and they take loans,
The scholars arrive with the big bags of books,
The poor snatch and loot and rob,
Hither and thither the people are running
Conscious of nothing, unconscious of their bare bodies
The people have nothing to do with each other
They don’t see each other; they’re not ashamed in front of each other,
The old man who has been running amok
A passing vehicle has ran him over
The shopkeepers laugh and enjoy the spectacle,
Four men assault a girl
The girl has been humiliated in front of everybody
There no one is, alas, to save her;
From north to south and south to north

From the east to the west;
The sun is setting soon—all we have is this one day
Let’s chant the text from the scripture
Let’s chant the text.

concluded.



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