Posted in Poetry

How can the world accept this tyranny?

When my imaginations can’t tolerate the thoughts I am in
I enter the white pages with the ink in my heart
I start writing the randomness boiling in my body
Not sure of the words, whether framed right or wrong

My land is burning far from me but you can see the flames in my eyes
I only know, I am from Kashmir and I am a Kashmiri

Victim of pain! Victim of suppression!
Victim of bullets! Victim of pellets!
Victim of war! Victim of destruction!

O, mothers out there!
Can’t you feel the pain of mothers of my land
They have their hearts burried in the grave
They have their eyes flooded in tears
How can the world say me, don’t speak?
How can anyone compromise the counciousness?
How can my imaginations tolerate the thoughts I am in?
How can the world accept this tyranny?