Lenin Meitei Thingujam
A free bird trying to live without figuring life out...someone who wants a mouthful of sky and a piece of the moon...someone with a healthy disrespect for the status quo...artistically temperamental more »
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Lenin Meitei Thingujam Poems
I may be a Boho, But I do save for a teary day. See this piggy bank? It holds your words-in-eclipse,
You rein in my wings, And try to tame me. “But what about my fiery breath? ” I ask you. You smile and tell me you are a phoenix.
Am I standing still on a moving train? `Cause I see things passing me by before my eyes Let me take a moment I want to savour these dried roses
Are you supposed to tell a story? Or are you a mane of words in a messy head? Are you an onion high on ethos? Or are you just skin-deep like a beauty queen?
Inch by inch I will move, But move I will, nonetheless, And not settle into An algal crown.
When I was small, I was not so tall. Used to go with mama dear, To the park with my teddy bear.
All day long, I`ve been studying signs; But still I can`t find my way back home; And the compass mocks me, With its hand pointing north.
My life, How do I divide you into chapters? How do I bind these fragmented writings into one whole? No flow, no reason
The winds shake my bones. This life is in sepia tones. I wake up and shrug off the cobweb. I wish someone would pick up the tab.
All these years, I could never unlock your riddles-
I want to carve your name in the sky, And sing it to the tune of the whistling winds.
Comments about Lenin Meitei Thingujam
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
I may be a Boho,
But I do save for a teary day.
See this piggy bank?
It holds your words-in-eclipse,
The sniffed-up tears,
The silent wails in the key of E minor,
Your cascading laughter in B major,
The rainbow tantrums,
Beads of your cold sweat threaded with pain,
The whine after the wine;
Your moans, your groans, your love-loans,
The lipstick art, the nail carvings,
The SMS sonnets, the ballroom ballads
The pink perfume, the brink-pink blushes.
But forgive me,
Your love is too big to be pickled,
In a small poor man`s ...