Imphal Review of Arts and Politics


Reflections: Four Poems



Hope that runs wild

Desires that remind

Of the fading light

Fears that must be conquered,


Tears that soak the heaven

Green valley that is begotten

Of the blue mountains

Separation that must be bridged,


Death wish that beckons

Dew that dots the tiny flower

Of the tropical forest

Homestead that must be reclaimed,


Emotions that get displaced

Nostalgia that fuses experiences

Of the past and the present

Future that must be lived,


              For my friend,

              Like the glittering surface of the lake

             That reminds me of the sky above

             You are the inspiration;

             Yes my friend,

             For the homestead is a home

             That I yearn

            For a life to be lived

            Where the heart is where the mind is

            For the mind is where the heart is!



Ode to Depravity

with disdain to rumour-mongers


For that pair of eyes that can only have

a vision through the chinks

and yet see light in darkness,

an act of incredulity

it can’t be,

that you’ve seen,

all from a distance,

that which one wears

underneath the pants!


For the ingenuity of a mind

that empowers to deny

the tragedy of a humiliated life,

an act of absurdity

it can’t be,

that you’ve visualized,

in all its hues and texture,

layers of inner clothing,

covering the genital!


As the preying eyes of morality

follow the intimacy of the images

of used condoms and the discarded packets

in the shady cabins of restaurants

of the town that shames the slums,

amidst the noise of the shrieks of a battered life,

You’ve the ear for the sounds of fantasy

of the protruding desire

and wet waiting for sire!


As that sniffing snout which can’t feel

the stinks of the open gutter

of the ghettoes of the dandies,

longs for the smell of perverted craving

of the wished clandestine affairs,

you strive for the exhilaration of decadence

to quench the thirst of stolen glances

as you ride the pristine pony as you please

for the cardinal pleasure of a stallion act!



Star of the Dawn


Touched by the fresh air

that came with the dawn,

the smell-less sticky flour

began to dry up

on our innocent palms

as we take the walk

together, remember my friend;

tearing off each layer

of the dried glues,

the lines began to appear

speaking of the future,

destiny that no one knew!


But my friend,

there’s indeed something in the air

that dawn, the star was so bright

For you and me, then, my friend…


Coloured by the red

that came with the fest,

five days of revelry

became the numbed life

of the daylight murders,

as the air turns cold

in twilight, reddish sky my friend;

tracing the footprints of

the days gone by,

the clues begin to surface

on the riddles of now,

and beyond that no one cares!


But my friend,

there’s indeed something in the air

that dawn, the star was so bright

For you and me, then, my friend…



The Butterflies


Flipping their tiny wings

Individuals in discordant acts

Coordinating for a symphony

Unity comes alive in acts.

For, there are the parts

And there is the whole

Forms begin to take shape

Souls acquire their substance…

It’s a promise in act

for the butterfly effect

For the future is not a destination,

We shall walk the talk…

For, the past, the present and the future is our time

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