Showing posts from May, 2014

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Rock n’ Roll, Summarised

1. Paranoid - Black Sabbath
2. Rockin’ All Over the World - Status Quo
3. White Rabbit - Jefferson Airplane
4. Masters of War - Bob Dylan
5. Killing in the Name of - Rage Against the Machine


I’m finished with her
And I’m going insane
All’s so vain
No fucking satisfaction!
Please give me attention!
Oh, please!

I can find nothing
I can see nothing

The jokes make me cry
Happiness is a lie
I feel I’ll die

Rockin’ All Over the World

Here we are
Here we go
Rockin’ all over the world

Up, up and all the way
We are almost throwing up and we are
Rockin’ all over the world

Mothers of the world, unite
You have nothing to lose but the tuneless terpsichore
For we’re rockin’ all over the world

And I like it a thousand times
And we’re rockin’ all over the world

White Rabbit

One pill make you big, another small
Forget about your mother’s
Ask Alice when she’s ten feet tall

When you go chasing rabbits
Tell them a hookah-smoking caterpillar calls
Alice was just small then

If the men …

‘Suck’ in Five Parts


When in usual time we see the very special folks
There’s little to tell apart of them from you and I
When in usual time we see the bloodiest killers
There’s little to tell apart of them from our saviours
When in usual time we see the most merciless robbers
There’s little to tell apart of them from our masters
When in usual time we see the filth
There’s little to tell apart of killing because of looks


In the courthouse the lawyers broke the law
They were fucking up the already grave situations more
Yet their gods be pleaded; them be pardoned
It was only, just another day in the life of some refugees
When at the altar they were molested like always
What was done, was only inevitable
Hatred knows no face and we are just faceless
It doesn’t matter where, it doesn’t matter what
All we can do is to wait for a billion patriots
Perhaps the prevailing candle-lit consciousness sympathises
And cry in the name of the country
As we wait for the next crime by looters and lawyers alike
The law is written in the co…

A Personal Statement About History

Memory is life, borne by living societies founded in its name. It remains in permanent evolution, open to the dialectic of remembering and forgetting, unconscious of its successive deformations, vulnerable to manipulation and appropriation, susceptible to being long dormant and periodically revived. History, on the other hand, is the reconstruction, always problematic and incomplete, of what is no longer. Memory is a perpetually actual phenomenon, a bond tying us to the eternal present; history is the representation of the past... Memory is absolute, while history can only conceive the relative.
Pierre Nora
History is so obvious for the simple reason that it has happened;
and it is even damned for this very nature of being already passed that we can hardly change it. Kings and kingdoms, the ages, battles and landmarks posit us in a situation where we can see that the past is a bridge to the future. It is for those who are interested in our collective evolution and the record of our ti…

for a life better than just being alive

amongst all our master is a dork so useless
in their kingdom is there no pain
the pleasure is in its everydayness
in its futility power vies for an owner
as the great unwashed remain unwashed
these words are the witnesses
& they help us in building helplessness
why would there be a word for consent
when in everything we do is but to resent
when the pursuit of happiness become meaningless
we only see further the master’s uselessness
but then the realisation saves
we have in other things on which a person survives
all the while it is hard to ignore how it thrives
parasitic microbes and ass-headed faces
them i have ignored for a life better than being just alive

A Favour Please, Pol Pot

On a request for a joyride

For we know not how
Know where, know what
When, and which
A clean slate promises
The dawn of hope

But you are just like our multiple kings
Only their names are not your name
Only they are stronger
As strong as the bank of a flooded river

In the past we proceed up to the Ningthi
Closer to your Hindu temples

In the present, up to New Delhi
Closer to offerings than the worshiping places

We might be going to Jupiter soon
Closer to extraterrestrial bullshits
Now the earth’s are so mainstream
Like your killing, like our killing
Death has so many loyal friends out here

In the lowest of your lowest pit
Give us some joyride
This favour, please; and for you
Take away the mushrooming hatred
Take it all — all’s just for you

Do you get the line
The clean slate re-promises?
You may deny but you did it
And we are impressed
Just this favour, please

We are loyal followers
The dogs be praised
There are many of us here.

As a Matter of Fact

There’s something so intriguing about us in caged, foul-mouthed birds
Animal Farm was supposedly written for us
Peanuts are the copyrighted image of our brain
Everybody has got the right to copy everything but ours
Elegance is just like a customer care executive’s e-voice
The patriots’ statue in the town centre were a mistake
Other statues are just a chunk of oversized rock
Across the avenue at the unmarked crossroad as we stand
The names of the kings are a burden that we carry forward,
And now how do you feel
How does it taste like
Kissing his ass at his coronation?
Ask me further
I really care about it.

Future Planning:

Finance & Its Related Areas 

I have arrived this far
And I have to do you this favour
Of possessing you
If not thick the attaché is no empty now
How it used to be nothing in those old days;
As memories become treasures
Life, making a living

Money can’t buy us happiness,
Money can buy us a mike to announce
We need only happiness
We need only freedom
And we have to feed the poor
We might as well have to kill the poor
We need only the police to protect us

And when we have it enough
Let the the price of the masters be known;
We will get clean, dress neat, eat well
Visit the government assembly house a fine day
And buy one by one, all of them
And build a torture chamber for them
Let us not worry for their spouses and babies
We might just buy them at a discount

When we have it enough
We are going to buy fresh air
That reeks not of robbers and murderers
Unwashed genitals
Like it is now
Even among the verdure at the Langol foothills
The trees are screaming discrimination
The air reeks …


In bundles
And overloaded sacks
And like fully-filled libraries
In hordes the stories stack up
Whilst all along I had presumed
Otherwise. Singly.

The workers tread
Each step studs with several stories
Pain and pleasure are just the supplements
Their weary eyes tell
Their faces show; at the end
It is the meal, waiting home

The masters make dissimilar moves
Albeit blanketed with riches
Only the narration changes
Of more things relatively good
Of more meanings seemingly smeared
When only death gives the final touch

Between them the billions
Of the billions
In some scientific obscure numbers
The stories mix, match, remain
Fade, blur, clear, show, omit;  

I can only ask a part of your fragmented story.
Only a part
Apart from what I have heard,
On the ground of companionship.

The Point of Beginning

Cut through the crowd of sullen faces
With the grime the background defaced
The roads lead to highways and foothills
Further to the lands of tea and beer and opium
But barricaded it’s asphyxiating right down here.

It is dusk; just the right time to go, and when
The legal police recovers a grenade from Wallet
It only tells of money robbed by its master
The moral police gets hold of heroin from Anus
It only knows of discarded syringes at the Nambul riverbank.

Old people are sitting by the streetcorners
Their unknown protests are too much, the placards cry bleeding
Age is all the problem; everything was fine in old days
Even the sex was good devoid of HIV
Where the hell has all the bloody decorum gone, Ibe?

The further the road, the further it stretches with no qualm   
Yet the sullen faces are still galore, greasy setting
Unfulfilled promises of the hills and all such matters
While the masters go and service their reproductive organs
It’s time to take over but not before making their …

Water / Everybody’s Crazy in My Family

Translated from Laishram Samarendra’s poems Ising and Ngaodaba Yaode Kanamatasu Eikhoigi Eemungda, which were originally published in Wakching-gi Kabita (1999). 



all the experts gathered
all the superiors, all the masters
but from the pipeline the water ran not, never

the experts exchanged ideas
the superiors talk’d over
but never the water ran

then in a flash of light the lady arrived
she looked like the wife of a master or an expert
why should not the water flow
it can never be stopping and she shouted
it will surely be streaming in and she left
then pitter-patter, gushed forth the water

Everybody’s Crazy in My Family

Ngaodaba Yaode Kanamatasu
Eikhoigi Eemungda

Everybody’s crazy in my family
Crazy about tea, my first uncle is crazy about tea
The morning tea, afternoon tea, evening tea

About the cigarette my aunt
My boy, my cigarette, get my cigarette
And the thirty-three crores of god present themselves
Before her eyes my aunt says when she takes one hard puff

Bollywood son…

A Summer Week’s Haiku

in the summer, wish
satisfy like the fly dies
our will-o’-the-wisp

then had i realised;
it has no bloody meaning
forty-five degrees

no huge like the sun
a small hand glass will do well
over masters’ butts

when summer comes, can
mosquitoes be far behind?
And one’s on the ball!

the first thing he do each
morning, is the sun prayer
like he will own it

on sundays life shows
how it sucks all the week long
it’s for living’s sake

no summer no winter
filth and blood will know never
we have gone through this

On the Fear of Standing Together

The plight of an individual in the maze of a bloody society

It is human nature to huddle together. Form a family. A community. A society. A state. Precisely, we long for belongingness. Social scientists would tell us convincingly how it is inherent in us to be a part of a larger group. Then came Aristotle—his arrival had been such a long time that it has become a cliché—to state that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

Contemporary governments like those in India have a lot to learn from the statement, while they preach state terrorism and declare the government is a natural successor to the individual. Reasons are just excuses; the real power is in the hands of a group that wields more authority, legal or otherwise. See, for instance, in the never-ending armed movements in several areas of the Northeast India for the last six to seven decades; in the groups which in some regions run a parallel government; and in the existence of de-facto pocket like Sajik Tampak in Manip…

The Traveller’s Tale


when i left home the dreams returned
a long, long time ago unsung, those had left
amidst homes broken and wasted, and multiple bodies charred
oh! it was just some stuffs ordinary
maybe not, but in time the memories have lost
now even the path i would need to seek
even for the home always so familiar, has become stranger
irony isn’t in the journey so twisty
it is in the meaninglessness
that, tersely tells the trodden trail

en route i

people, people everywhere,     nobody to talk to
the verdure at home on one hand;     other, in other’s the exceptionally dry terrain
wise men say it is the duality     answer-less it remains though
then it occurs             the walk is the meaning
and i found it on the way     ―the sideways; the billboards
life is writing a tale,     a travelling tale
so far maybe             lies the destination
one word a time         hardly consciously the steps drag forward

en route ii

the roads are scattered,     assorted, amalgamated
i’m not where i should be    i’m jus…


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