Imphal Review of Arts and Politics


Poetry: Outside its never new on execution day and more

Outside its never new on execution day


It’s Good Friday

I met an acquaintance

the other day

Sabbath dries my vision

for the next day

Jesus gone is a moment

fixed on love’s way

What coincidence that

the axe too fell on

the poet’s neck around

this a longer day

The author was known

His past forgotten

but his words hold me

I remember the

lapse of time but am

not sure of the hours

and the days

Hearken the spirit

a man must not

be hurt for

what he says

Even god must speak sometimes

and have a say

I am not so brave myself

but would sometime

like to say

Bloomsbury I wouldn’t

like to visit cause Sabbath

is on the next day

But the tower of crucifixion

would be nearer to

my itinerary

where I would like to be

the rest of my moments and days

Discontent brew in the momentary

idleness of below

The height had better view

As the moment drew

and the History of the World

never sounded so new

Never could I venture out

My heart’s not cold

it’s something new

I don’t sell my soul

But his words are sweet and sparse

I am not so old but know not

if it was gunpowder he blew

or sword he drew

I can make out just a bit

his words are too few

Wait there’s a shepherd

too mentioned

It’s not my religion here

But I have heard of that too

There’s commotion

outside in New Delhi

there’s a lot in circulation

but the notes are few

The government holds down a foe

it’s a hell of a street all my way

My words are free

but not for either way

I feign to know you

today I hold out

with a half loaf of bread

Sabbath’s new and I

couldn’t face anyone

The evening might be better when

Sabbath’s drowned

the food will be warmer

the streets are better then

and there are a few beggars

who recognize me

they hold out too and hold on

there’s a different currency here

and it’s all about the lesser

My words bite but

his words are young

I will join him and

what he loves to do

in the tower

if his books are housed

I could read there

Life is a large expanse

an adventure

even if they be just words

unremembered, forgotten

too soon, unseen

in a distant land

I wonder how far goes

from the tower it’s view

there couldn’t be too many

in London’s

and New Delhi’s nothing better

Very unlike you two





An unfree table in free space



I sometimes wait

for you too

Better than a hangout

for saints of an

unmaddened state

Their realisations

are deeper they say

Both states I must say

must be profound for

me and my sake

I prefer with the former

and some newness my own

Take it on in life

Of which the latter part

is usually about

too many stakes

There’s no threat

to me, that’s my mind

It’s for me

life’s parliament of


timeless space





A random toast


A butter toast in the morning

and that’s half the job done

The rest is to walk out

a few times up and down the streets

giving it a thought

up and about, but ready to leave

Buy some things you remembered

before you slept the past night

and maybe along with that

a kurta or a swirling pyjama

that’s easier for the weather

Footloose clothing

you can walk out with it

even with a little airs

It’s noticeable, not ordinary

in summers when you feel restless in the heat,

but are yourself in spite of it

Just this much and already it’s lunchtime

ready and waiting

in scores of restaurants

for the early birds

Others who get up late

arising with bigger dreams in sight

Logic says – the longer the night,

the larger the world as a dream

And all this without any heartburn –

if you like it

This street is a reality, what a cool sight

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