Posted in Poetry


Revolution says
Just a moment away
But you have to fight
For thousands of days

It is born in the hearts
Single voice, from where it starts
Sacrifice of days and blood
To turns slogans into flood

Some lives to see
Some dies before, with the hope
Revolution test the emotions
Revolution teaches patience

Pain and passion, love and hate
It gives life to the dead words
Martyrs and tears, beheld in souls
It destroys, it creates

Evil falls, good wins
It rules over the millions of hearts
Revolution takes the birth
Amongst the men of truth
The pages bear witness
Revolution creates greatness and greats

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

Kashmir is Alive in us

Caged are we
In the light of day and the gloom of night
The barriers have blocked our sight
How is the world and where is the world?
Is the thing lost in us
Our helplessness also returned unheard
And Kashmir continued to be a caged word

Snow also broke our skeltons and
announced the coming of deadly winter
Apples grieved over their rottenness
And our eyes witnessed this brokenness
Justice has been imprisoned to let the tyranny roam
With the peace in the mouth and blood on the hands

My ears hear
What is there left to live?
My councious tells
the blood soacked in the soil
For which mothers have shed their tears
On which stands this struggle
For the world the Kashmir may be dead
But Kashmir is alive in us

Posted in Poetry

Dawn of Peaceful Kashmir

I want to embrace the petals of rose with my blood
As the thorns of separation penetrate deep in my firger tips
Tears and tears only! Where could I hide my pain?
You fell before my eyes and I saw you falling
What more can I say? A deep silence has covered me like the winter snow

O, the loved ones of Kashmir!
You left the depths in us when you entered the graves
Who will fill them? Only tears fall and get lost in them
I want to embrace myself with your blood
But you stand so far! Unreachable to me

Left are our ailing heart and crying souls
Left in us is a hope to meet you after this world
Left in us are prayers to heal the wounded gardens
Our Apple orchads are grieved by looking at faces taking care of them
Only graveyard are peaceful where you are resting
As our homes are cages and our streets are battlegrounds
Weapons and weapons only! In this reign of suppression

Deadly silence has overtaken our senses
Pain is ashamed before us to cause more of it
We now stand in a hope for the dawn to come
Dawn of peaceful Kashmir

Posted in Poetry


Dry leaves are scratching the pavement, as the wind blows
no one is around to listen to their crackling sound
Everyone has returned to their dwelling
After burying one more martyr
In the valley of graves

For the whole winter, the sky kept shedding tears
To wash the blood over this piece of land
In preparation for the spring to arrive
To return the melody of forgone birds
Perching on the almond trees
Singing to those ears which now hear nothing but
the songs of separation
Separation of love and the loved ones

This separation is unending for this life
This pain is immortal in the grains of heart
Which has now remained a heap of sand
About to liquify to take the feet within
For what other purpose the cheeks are there
only for rolling down the tears of affliction

The face smirks when ears hear that word
Can’t be synonymous to the name of this land
The beauty of snow has faded away
Behind the scars chiseled all along
What are we here?
Living dead in the valley of graves
The world knows her by “KASHMIR”

Posted in Poetry

Rivers of Blood #Kashmir

whole life passed by, in the mirror of outrage and oppression
through my valley flow, Jhelum and Chenab
But I saw only the rivers of blood streaming across
what condition are my people in, I don’t know
are they dying of starvation, I don’t know

you travelled the journey over our corpses
we travelled the journey in burying them
you enlightened your cities with lamps on the occasion of festivals
we had to live those moments also in unbearable silence
what address are you inquiring from these blind eyes?
when you have blinded the humanity to lacerate our bodies
what have you achieved by taking away our peace
relinquishing even the bond of humanity with us
In written stories we will always remember you as a muderer
you not only ripped apart the humans but also ripped our land

Posted in Poetry


Proffer a harness to my voice

So that the winds could convey in that Valley

A message of mine to those bolted walls

Behind which lies broken hearts


After every dark night, a morning appears

This progression of tyranny will end

No matter if we are near or far

But not devoid of the mercy of God


Our destiny doesn’t lie in their lines

Even the paper floats unweighted in the air

This is the decree of the Lord of majesty and bounty

A test of our strength and passion


So do not belittle your heart

when your chest carries the name of Lord

A greeting to the purpose of the life

And a message from the truth of death

Stand even if your heads are cut down

If you bowed you will die a thousand deaths


Your spirit and soul is embedded with God’s word

The land is dying out of a thirst for your blood

Your life is now only a chapter of revolution

Your life is now only a chapter of revolution

Posted in Poetry

Story to God #Kashmir

I am on a walk till the sun sets

I see the oceans crying

with the tides of tears

to meet a soul that left

for the last journey

from earth to the heavens

for never to return

but he told me that

I will tell the God

the story of my valley

where I as a son

was separated from my mother

where my own father

shattered before my coffin

I will tell the God

the story of my valley

where the buds are shot

for the fear of growing up in flowers

and the winds keep weeping

out of the smoke of their weapons

I will tell the God

the story of my valley

where bodies are dragged

peeling their honour

before the blind eyes of the law

law of injustice and tyranny

I will tell the God

the story of my valley

of the raid of nights

of the bullets in days

of the blood on the road

of the terror in the hearts

I will tell the God

the story of my valley

of the torture of the bodies

of the screams out of pain

of the brutalities in the jails

of the reign of oppression

I will tell the God

the story of my valley

of the eyes torn by pellets

of the darkness in their eyes

of the end of their dreams

of the tears which are hopeless

I will tell the God

the story of my valley

of the unmarked graves

of the disappeared beings

of the orphans living

of the half widows waiting

I will tell the God

the story of my valley

of the hideous massacres

of the pool of blood

of the denial of justice

of the suppression of the voice

I will tell the God

the story of my valley

the story of Kashmir

bleeding everywhere

waiting for the next martyr

to rest under the soil

Posted in Poetry



O my friend
In the grave
Do my tears reach your way
Conveying my words
Across the barrier
Of soil layer
I long to see your face
To play with you
While you run and I chase
But you ran too far from me
And too soon disappeared in the heaven
Leaving me alone in the world
With your memories and says

I remember our road to school
Making it late to reach back home
I thought no one could take you away
Those bullets
pierced not even your skin
But our friendship too
And separated our ways
You as a martyr and me as a living dead

These tyrants may be enjoying, laughing and dancing
But they don’t know
Your blood will be their nightmare
When I saw your face
Before they took you to the resting place
All those years that we spend
Just ended on those lips
Though they were lifeless
But they were telling me
Our tales of friendship

You gave your life to this struggle
Giving life to our dead hearts
You had in you a priceless thing
The blood of the revolution
I believe the day will come
The day of resurrection
On that day no one could separate us
Because death will be also dead

Posted in Poetry



Why do you fear the living ones in the streets?
You should fear the martyrs living inside the graves
Because you are helpless to kill them again
Their blood still burns your soul and pierces your heart
Their presence is a sign of glory to come again in the form of your loss
There is nothing more precious than their blood
So precious that even hard to find in the paradise
The last smile they go with is a source of millions of tears
And there presence even in the graves will keep burning
The candle of revolution
As many more unknown faces will walk as living martyrs
Really the blood of revolution is priceless
It carries the fate of nations
It carries the prayers of that mother who kissed his martyr son for one last time
So your might is just a useless entity
Void of any value and fetching you only the curses
Your smirks will return to you in the form of black faces
That you will be forced to wear when the justice will be served by the GOD
On that day you will see the blood of revolution that you shed
Your faces will turn more black by seeing the reflection of your tyranny

Posted in Poetry



This year is again going to end with a quiet winter in our land
Only left us wondering what remains in our hand
It displayed every season with their different colors
But our eyes saw only one among them
Color of blood as if spilled all over the valley floor
Our happiness is buried with them, and left us glum
The cities out there will be decorated, but nothing here to adore
Their hearts may be delighted, our are sore
We now again are filling reservoirs with blood
As new year is about to come
Leaving the living ones here again lifeless
For no one knows what is their for them over the heavens
I see mountains feeling regret in them
As how much tyranny and injustice they can hide
I see the lakes cursing on their existence
When they sees the patches of blood frozen in their frozen water
Deep is the pain, deep is the sorrow
When winds of death are roaming around
We now feel nothing new in the new year
But just keep revisiting the graves and scars
As everyone here has been the victim of generational wars

“Kya muhabbat ki dastan sunaegii wo bul bul
Jab uske saamne ujdaa hua chaman ho”

“What tales of love would tell that persian nightingale
When devatated flower garden is in front of her”