Saturday, January 30, 2010

Without words

I wish
I could
the way you do
or don't
With almost
a disdain
for expressions
my affections
as you do
to affectations
I wish
I could
without words
bereft of kisses
devoid of embraces ©

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

3 Haiku

Full moon of my home
brighter by far I tell them
load shedding they mocked


Nga chara ama
Interview da yengbiyu
Haina thillakhi


waiting for a word
but your pages remain blank
why friend, the silence


Wednesday, January 20, 2010

And yet some others I met ©


Seeking an end

Is it some mere floors above?
Or perhaps at the graceful end
of a coiled rope?
Is it within the depth of a well
with its liquid blackness
calling out my name?
Is it next to the warm comfort of my bed
in a clear bottle that promises peaceful slumber?
Shall I choose the obscure hour of my birth
where the night and day met?
Shall I choose the music of raindrops
on the tin roof to bade me this farewell?
Shall I in a splash immerse myself
in the arms of an immense lake
and leave in my wake
a few ripples? ©

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Me ©

Baba ©

Ema ©

Sunday, January 10, 2010


when you recede
along with the tides
the litter sewn shore of my soul
looked at me like a gaping wound

the amber of fading afternoons
cast the longest solitary shadow
the fog of winter boils over the evening sky
like frigid lumps of latent milk
forced down throats of unwilling children
while some distract hunger for awhile
with mango kernel and tawdry strands of grasses ©


Call me no longer
to your reunions
I no longer
to that School of thought
All I remember
Is your concrete pretensions
Those structures
That cordone me off
That make me harbour
Feeling of superiority
Over vernacular mortals
I am still undoing
Those twisted knots
I am now glad
My hair has
The discipline
Of plaits
and ribbons
The factory line
of morning assembly
The raps
on my knuckles
The red grades
of lesser human
my report sported
each year
The hand-me-down
Patched and sewn
They pointed at
and mocked
The class within a prison
Of four walls
The teachers’ classes within a book
Bound by rigid covers
The class of sycophants
That chanted praises
Or curses
at her instigation
I’ve bade my byes
and buried them
by the laphu makhong
with my laiphadibi
with an appropriate funeral ©

Tuesday, January 5, 2010


This first drizzle of winter

Drops of crystal descend

merge with the street

to become this stubborn slush


on the tattered phanek

of the widowed valley

This mist of winter

Blinded by whiteness

The white cold seep through

From the bed of tarmac

Into the vagabond’s soul

A clueless poet

Tainted with love for verse

Heartbreak became a poem of winter

Gnawing through bones

Each word hang heavy

Like the bulky winters’ torn fabrics ©