Somewhere in the corner of my heart,
I secretly adore Aung San Suu Kyi.
What if we had a woman like her!

I loath Malala Yousufzai,
that small hypocrite,
that coward who fled her home
who left her home,
who reminds me of Sharmila, 
who went on a hunger strike
but fell in love with Desmond,
a mayang desmond, a minai himself.

They both remind me of the deserter,
that MU professor, who ran out of place to keep his ego,
who deserted his fellows,
who looks like Joker from Batman,
smile or no smile,
with his creaking voice on Impact TV.

What constitutes a woman?
Her eyes, her slanty small eyes
Her nose, her broad low nasal bridge
Her skin, her soft yellow skin
Her face, her broad budding face
Her hair, her streaming black hair
Her breasts, her tiny uninviting breasts
For which no suitable bra exists in ‘her’ country
For which she needs to find the most expensive one in ‘her’ country
Which resemble nothing like the onscreen celebrity’s.

Her dress, her flamboyant cotton sari
Her anguish, of not belonging anywhere,
of floating around in an ahistorical space,
of being asked to belong to her mother.
Her voice, her elegant voice that speaks of genital organs,
A faceless corpse, robbed of her face, her body, her head, her voice.
A human with blood and veins and a river of memories.

You see your reflection,
In the mirror,
in rivers,
In ponds,
in your photos
You see your mongoloid face and you hate it.
Your little head is confused
'why i don't look like my friends. Them has big big eyes, them has long nose,'
Your little head is confused.
I'm telling you.
Don't. There is no point.
You are who you are.
Your nose is not gonna grow,
your eyes are gonna remain small
Your skin as yellow as you were born.
Well unless you go for cosmetic surgery.
But then, You don't wanna become another Michael, do you?

'But darling, you are wrong
'love conquers all'
I heard it somewhere,
Was it Chaucer?
Was it Socrates, plato?
My English friends told me so,
its all what we must do.
Let me show them my love.
They can kill but I love them,
they can rape but I love them,
why so much hate'
Yes why so much hate,
Why cry when your life is spared if not your dad's, or brother's, or sister's or someone's who you don't know,
Why talk so much when your ngari is taxed,
When your people are evicted for electricity,
That's development, you don't want growth?
Why curse, why wish when your life is spared if not your job, your family, your Leikai.
Why wish!

When lost for words, go for law.
When fallen in a pit, drown and wasted, drag your fellow.
When lost for words, hang on to you gender
Let your misguided soul wander.
Sinking low, icy blow.

It's time to get flowers.

Weren't you the one who zoomed in on the screen,
in the mist of Shillong
and color the studio green?

The iron pieces still cling onto you,
it clings every second
as time slips away from me
like a creeping vegetable
growing in my mother's garden,
stealthily and silently.

I fear if it was you,
or the time that's slipping by,
day by day
minute by minute.

I'm still your bee,
waiting for you
your scent and your lukewarm self,
to reach me again
once more
in a place bereft of people
society,
only you and I.

Let us swim, you and I
submerged in this river,
you in your pyjamas and your absolute self
and me with my genetic brown eyes, synthetic blue-grey glasses
and my full face.
Extinguish the greedy blaze,
my pristine thrist.

Toss away the adorable politics,
the people,
the disposable plastic glasses,
Get more flowers and herbs and heal the world.
Heal the sickness and secure our future of togetherness.

That little death in us

I died as an infant in my mother’s womb,

Before I made my entrance.

I died as a little girl trying to go to school,

Inside the sack, raped and murdered.

I died as a foolish young man in the car,

Trying to get away among the bullets,

A prey to their wishlist.

I died as a young mother, pregnant and helpless

In front of my little son.

I died as an insurgent,

With boots and shirts not of my own.

I died as a lover,

With my breast cut off like a life size doll.

I burned myself in a protest,

In front of thousands of eyes.

Thus my ashes get blown away in the wind.

I starve myself to death, with greedy eyes all around me.

Thus, I die little by little.

I die a little every second that counts.

I die a little with every new news.

My redundant chant bores you,

It confuses you just for a while,

While the pain lingers

And haunts ceaselessly.

Destination undone.

It's the dripping drops that I see,
Streaming down the abyss.
Floating hopes and dreams
stripped away from the mothers.

Gorging myriads of lives profusely
Hiding behind democracy;
Dancing to the distorted melody
smiling and dying,
disappearing,
swiftly,
turning
into
a
.


A void: that's all left.