Anthology of Three

These 3 poems were first published in Kekru Vol 1. Kekru is an Imphal-based publication in Manipur.


You’re the paradox in my mind,
leaving with a presence,
with eyes that bleed passion,
and smiles reeking of love.

There’s calmness like still water:
creamy fairy with sapphires within,
glowing like petals to bees,
you are a cliche of a fiction.

Will our paths cross again?
I hope.
We jumped but you fell again —

Rescue —
I need none but one.
On our journeys to the Uncharted,
we were halves of life.



In innocent time,
when no strings wrap your mind,
you took a picture,
captured with wide eyes, looked up;
saw a fiery red bird,
in bright feathers, with trails of fire.

A fortune foretold, years ago;
a destiny, written and bound,
in the wisdom of ancient times:
Mother Universe made her choice,
you shall break.
Smile, red bird, smile.



I have poison in my veins
streaming like a mountain brook
with hissing sounds,
bubbling volcanic grounds.
This — sometimes I take a dig.
Mining crusty dimes,
I take a prick,
give me myself a sip
from my own wrist with a pin.
Then I force a straw and pluck a hole
at my own neck, let a tap run, flow.
My eyes glow,
whirlpooling into a glass, ice cubes, filled.
My sick fancies — I do them with such dandy.
I kiss it out in mad lust, thirsty.
I suck with lips, purged,
while lips rot like in a witch’s curse.
I have poison in my veins.
I take ’em like sugarcane.


Modern Art

(This has been published in the Third Eye magazine of St. Joseph’s College, Bengaluru)

Oh lo oh so —
she is so avant-garde.
Oh lo oh so —
she’s so modern
with an accent
travelled from a land
I only hear of.
She walks around
with a veil of hipster.
But here I am
a half-ass hipster
with modern poetry
on WordPress.
I practice the accent
of how she says my name
’cause even that
how she says my name
is that addictive to my foolishness.
Oh lo oh so —
but she isn’t that of a modern art
’cause beyond that linseed oil
over the surface,
the paints are of tomatoes
and of mangoes,
cherries and blueberries;
’cause beyond her hipster friends
and our circumstances:
I, from a corner,
up in a valley from the hills;
she, from God’s country,
sprinkled with globalised modernity —
but beyond all this storyline architecture
for a drama ever so complicated,
it is written in her smiles
and in her ever so lovable child
I see playing in her heart
that we are lost souls
and our souls are traditionalists
destined to be drunk in madness
and love and chaos; mirrors
reflecting each other’s beautiful mess,
in an ever so complicated world.
Oh lo oh so —
I’m so helpless,
Oh lo oh so —
you Modern Art.
I can read you.
I admire you.
But that’s all I could do.
I stand amongst a million crowd
like that scene in movies
where time and lives carry on
in a blurred frenzy,
but I,
I stand still and admire you,
you beautiful Modern Art.

For M
Neal Y (Phalguni Y)
September 2, 2016