The Man Who Must Die Like a Punk

The Man Who Must Die Like a Punk
The retired punk: Image from his Facebook profile
When K Imoton grew up he grew up like a punk
He was not simply like a punk—he was THE punk
He had leather patches on his jeans
A glob of Enflied engine chain tied his wallet to his pocket
His tight faded metal studded jacket would give the Ramones
A run for their money
Some days he went to his school riding a horse
And back home, he'd got a thrashing from his pop
But he sure know to ride out the storm;
And one day he had to left home
For life is no fair
You cannot be a punk and live in K Imoton’s hometown
You have to be a revolutionary to live
You have to be a doctor
You have to be an engineer 
You have to be a government clerk;
You are a millionaire if you become a contractor.
So K Imoton disappeared for two years.

No one believed he was gone
No one was a punk like K Imoton
No one was sure what was to become of the space
No one was sure if this was the end.

The Man Who Must Die Like a Punk
An image by Tim Schapker, originally posted on
And three years down the line in 1993
When Naba Volcano was singing like a punk
When he was really more like a pampered pop star
When punk was gone if not in some underground scenes
K Imoton came back with a master’s degree in English
And his mother fainted seeing him
He was wearing a brown blazer and a matching tie
He was wearing trousers and a polished leather shoe
If you saw him you can well imagine the number of obituaries
The death of punk
More than the number of people killed by the armymen
More than the number of people killed by the gunmen
In the newspapers of his hometown
The moment was printed in blood.
Nobody knew where the leather jackets were
Neither the pins and the skinny jeans and the spikes and all.

Now K Imoton is like a man in 2013
He knows how to make love
See his four sons
But the story is the tragedy
Of the punk who become a chum of the public bureau
What is left of him
What is left of him
What is left of him,
And his best friend hollers
K Imoton, you are a punk
And you must live like a punk,
And you must die like a punk,
And back his wife roars
K Imoton is not home.

I saw him when I went to Binodini for some weed
He was buying some kid's snacks.
I told him punk is dead.



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