Morning Mirror

It could have been me, who could have died that day
But by the grace of Allah, I am alive

When I see the morning mirror
I see myself among the graves
I see people lost of their senses
I see women screaming while looking at the coffin
I see as if I am in Kashmir
When I blink
I see myself standing in front of me
The words buzz in my mind
It could have been me, who could have died that day
But by the grace of Allah, I am alive

The pine trees adorned with snow
The peaceful rivers coming from glaciers
The lakes with the houseboats
The dazzling mountains in the sunsets
The tea in the samavaar
They all remain
But they have no place in my stories
You could ask me, why?
Because I saw blood and pain
I saw young sons wrapped in shrouds
I saw waiting mothers and half widows
I saw tears and fear in eyes
I saw funerals and graves
I saw bullets and pellets
I saw eyes being torn
I saw red, only red
And that’s what I see while I wake up
When I see the mirror
I see myself among them
And I say,
It could have been me, who could have died that day
But by the grace of Allah, I am alive

A Smile

My smile is just an unspoken words of pain
I touched the soil and felt no love of rain
I wanted to cry out my tears to feel that touch
But what could you expect from this harsh desert?

Yes! My smile is just an unspoken words of pain
My laugh is squalling of my heart
I succeed by remaining unrecognisable
What have I became inside

A story of millions of tears
Keeps flowing like a Brooke of my scenery
I blur the pain but lost I stand
In search of peace and happiness

My unspoken words of pain have become a smile
But deep I cry
I have become a tale of my valley
Not heard anywhere in the cities

Let me live with these Sighs

Land of the faces devoid of emotions
A common pain, a common grief
Where is the freedom? Where is the justice?
There is tyranny, there are graves

I want to run away far in the mountains
Where snow never vanish, where there is cold
I want to freeze my feelings, freeze my emotions
Freeze my tears, to let them live for ages

O Kashmir! O beautiful!
Your rivers are like hair lock on a beautiful face
Poets wrote you for ages like a dream
But today you scream and the cities are silent

Let me live far away on these mountain
You look beautiful to my eyes
Let me live with these sighs!
Let me live with these sighs!

Grave of Graves

A valley, holocaust of souls
Inferno of sore stories
Grave of graves! Grave of graves
With some inscribed, and other lay unidentified

Landlocked and barricaded ways
Where to go? No one knows
Now, It is just a Valley
Losing the unsung words in this deadly silence

Love wants to escape through the crevices in mountains
How those hearts could hold?
When the smoke in the streets burned the tissues
Our faces are now just characters victimized by pretension

I am a Kashmiri, I am Kashmir
Never ask me anything of my well-being
I don’t want my existence to be humiliated, because
When we suffered and you stood silent

Revolution

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

Poem without A Poet

O poet!
You are known to play with the words
But, I am not the one
I write them as they are
I write tears as tears
I write pain as pain
I write them as they are

O poet!
Could you play with my words
And change their meaning
So that,
What I always saw in my Valley
Would remain hidden in my lines
Making them also a poem
But not written by a poet

Have You Left?

Would we be heard?
No, is the answer
Humanity is abused everyday
Still humans are helpless
Among all the abuses from east to west
Who will listen to Kashmir?
May be, they open the pages of history
But, who is there to unfold our emotions?
Who will listen to syria?
Who will listen to palestine?
Who will listen to all war torn lands?
Will they remain a place and date on pages
And for ages to come
Why this war? Why this unrest?
Why can’t we humans uphold humanity?
Why this inequality? Why this disparity?
Why I see blood flowing in my valley?
Why I see tears in the eyes of mothers?
Why I see half widows, waiting and searching?
But, no one answers me
Are these the forgotten questions?
Or are we in the acceptance for it to be?
Where is voice of counciousness?
Where is passion for justice?
Where is the revolution in us?
Where is the revolt against tyranny?
Where is the dream of peace?
Answer me!
If you can’t
You have left humanity



KASHMIR WILL REMAIN OURS

You may have conquered our lands
But not the skies
we have learned to fly
Because we see falcons in the dreams

You could cut our tongues
But we will write with our blood
Our morale is bigger than your tyranny
You kill, and we are proud to die

See our eyes, you will see your fall
When we see yours, we see our rise
We both will remain the character in the book of Kashmir
Alas! You will be read as the antonym of humanity

The apple orchads will remain ours
The Dal and Wular lake will remain ours
The struggle will remain ours
Our Kashmir will remain ours