KAPIL ARAMBAM • In Pursuit of Freedom •

Kill the Kids


Kill them in their school uniforms
Kill them in their dorms
Why the hell are they protesting on the streets?
Am I surprise sometimes to humanity my heart escheats?

Save them kids at dawn
Save them kids from the troubles of this bloody world
Save them kids before them the filthy flags unfurl
Before them know which country them belong to
But do at dusk, do kill them; continue!

Kill the kids before they die like their hopeless parents
Tell us what good they would do when they become adolescents
The minister’s son’s gone to America
The engineer’s daughter’s gone to Russia
And other bastards are taking refuge in India
And which mongrels are these kids in the streets?
Order the dogs the cops to slit the throats.

PS: Ask them teachers what they teach in a classroom
Ask them the masters of gloom and doom
Make them toe the line; for their salary would they never whine
Kill them swines too — for funerals we got the wine.

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Students protest for the implementation of Inner Line Permit System in Manipur

Related:

Campaign Banners for the Inner Line Permit System in Manipur
From a protest in Sagolband

Enforce Inner Line Permit System in Manipur
A translated copy of a handbill in Manipuri, distributed by the Joint Committee on Inner Line Permit System, for the campaign spearheaded by the Federation of Regional Indigenous Society (FREINDS) in 2012

Info on Inner Line Permit (ILP) System in Manipur
On E-pao

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Listen to Lullaby(Official) by Imphal Talkies N’ the Howlers


Haiku July

A night shot from the India Habitat Centre © Kapil Arambam

★ 

some days in life, mist
thickens even in midday
summer sheds the tears


★ 

undesirable,
you cannot act like a child,
heart for age’s sake


★ 

it is all absurd
so it seems from what we see
even what we don’t




will we never meet..?
we always tell each other,
solace in sadness




you, a part of me
me, a part of you; it’s true,
still going apart




unspoken moments
and those unexpressed feelings
those suffocation



Image: A night shot from the India Habitat Centre

Should I Be Good...?



And talked,
Shiny, honey-laced lips
The beauty in sweet talking it’s clear
When all I hear is fucking moaning
Killing,
Vision blurred
Shits scattered across the paths, the walls
I’m more worried about rats and ants

Those sweet lips we believe it’s what
It’s what raises pellucidity
Civility
Bloody civilised

And I should be good
And behave, like amiable, playful dolphins
When asses run amok
Be good
For it looks good



Absurdity She Tells Him

Since when, in the theatre of the absurd
The man is preparing for his tragedy
It’s just like he lives life like in a comedy
It looks anything is possible
It looks lovesickness
But here how can you capture 24 hours
Of a million little feelings in two to four minutes
Of recollection amidst the tragedy?

And from the billion of them there is just one face
Yes, despite absurdities she stays noticeably
And the privilege of uniqueness can turn into a nightmare
And it does, when she tells it is all absurd
And tragedy, for the man has reasons
And that’s why he is preparing for the play
And now it’s never clear what is what.


Punishment sisyph by Titian from Wikimedia Commons

In Pursuit of a Pattern



Into the fabric
A single thread runs from one edge to the other
How would a lesser mortal know it is such stubborn
When the entire camaraderie has metamorphosed into a drapery?

In the almirah
Soft hands fold and arrange the apparels
Numbers in as twice and thrice as that of body parts
There is only reason in their being: to clothe

When it is time to get out of the closet
It makes sense how we see in the patterns
How it exists all around all along
“Beyond our pathetic myopia
Beyond the blindness
We are only hell bent for chaos,” said no one ever

From the fabric to the end of the universe,
We have seen it but then
We have seen it in war and worldliness as well
We have seen it
We are out of synch
But then again, does it even matter?!

It’s ironical we live in both order and disorder
We might live with the government and without
While the recently formed regime announces its promises
Just like everything will fall into their places
Just like something’s better than nothing.

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Melancholy

How do you cure it
I do not—
I only feel it
I can only force myself to sleep
And only wait for the light, the following dawn
And then when the whole world bask in the glory of the sun
For the want of a suitable word
The dawn has faked
But you cannot fake the burden on your heart
The heaviness in the throat, the silent choking feeling
Even the proverbial tunnel lies beyond a great distance
And all along all you have are words. Bloody words.



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