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| In a land not so far away… Err, well, in my land of birth Where nine hills form a levee around a valley Every morning rulers have Human beings for breakfast Wear around their necks skulls To ward off evil spirits as necklaces Absurdity is the reigning reason Weeping wails are laughter Death shadows are dances Laments are hymns Elegies are lullabies Prisoners are freemen Peasants till the land with bare hands Blood waters the crops And we harvest sorrow in the month of Poinu. I met my old friend last night Dirty old friend! In a house of the prostitutes, while Bargaining over a nipple ring and A pair of size–48 brassieres We drank to our health, talked about Epidemic, earthquake, flood, drought and The breakfast rulers have, nearly choked On our drinks as we recalled how The Southern Chief nearly choked On toes of the foetus in the womb as he Gorged the mother, promised Not to miss the live telecast of The next breakfast, we’ll Sing standing up staccato For amusement, as usual Notes of national anthem as they eat, ruefully I expressed how much I envied their meals My friend lowered his voice, lest The walls heard his newfound secret, said He picked up a star the previous night, from The lane of empty desire in The barren street of hope Kept it under his pillow and slept, had The star for breakfast in the morning.
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| Last Updated ( Sunday, 18 October 2009 16:32 ) | |||||||
Homen Thangjam is a Delhi based strategy & business consultant; occasional poet & critic. His friends refer to him as "Corporate Marxist". He writes regularly in various forums and website. 