Posted in Poetry

Where is the Blooded paradise, Kashmir?

Let my eyes flow with the rivers of Kashmir
I pray to be rested in the grave of her soil
The martyrs whose faces I never saw, and they left
Let me see my soul drenched in their blood


Let me see myself burning with the leaves in the autumn
Let me live in the silence of snow near the window
Let me cry in remembering our pain in front Of Allah
Let me pray for the prosperity of the forgotten valley


We are living in the horror behind the veil of beauty
The paths leading to the graveyards are more settled than others
A hope, one day we will win over the war but don’t know at what cost?
My home is easy to find, just inquire “where is the blooded paradise, Kashmir?”

Posted in Poetry

A Poem to Tyrants

You killed, but I never died
I lived in the legacy behind
Lower you stooped to oppress
the lives to snatch their rights
you can short millions dead
But billions would rise up to fight
And again you would remain
an error in the pages of history
a stain on the face of humanity
cursed by the millions to come

You killed, but I never died
I lived in the legacy behind
Like a light shining in millions
A sign upholding the humanity high
A message that reached beyond
the range of your weapons
By killing my body, you strangled humanity
but my struggle and courage let that free

Posted in Poetry

In Pursuit

I was in pursuit of one night
to sleep in the fathomless silence
in me and around me
Absorbing all the pain and agony
of every living person in my Valley
and taking all their despair with me in my dreams
where I could bury it for a moment
I wondered how that would feel like
to bury the pain of a mother
living in the memories of his lost son
to bury the pain of a father
living in a hope that justice will be served
to bury the pain of a friend
whose friend fell to bullets just next to him
to bury the pain of millions of hearts
who lost their loved ones
I wondered how much I had to dig deep
to bury the infinite stories of despair

I fell down to my knees out of my helplessness
and became uncouncious and when I woke up
I saw a crystal clear river
where I saw beautiful young man in the boats
I asked them who they were why this river was glittering like gold?
they greeted me with a beautiful voice
and told me
“We are the sons of that Valley
and these are the tears of our mothers
we are guarding them till the day of judgement
when each drop of tear would stand witness against those tyrants
who martyred us because we stood before their injustice
we know why are you here?
in pursuit to bury the despair
give that to us
we will keep it as we have nothing of your world
Atleast in this, we could see the reflection of our loved ones
God will keep multiplying it till the day of resurrection
and will replace with blessings and mercy to them
when you will go back
Give our message to the ones struggling
“Never loose hope and faith
as God has sowed us in your soil
for the glory to come”

just walk some distance as you still have to meet some other persons”

I walked where they told me to go
I saw persons with the most beautiful eyes
they were like the lightening in the sky
and the world in front of them was as beautiful as those eyes
I stood lost in them
I asked them about this beauty
they told me
“These are the eyes of the ones
who have lost their sight due to pellets showered on them
We are preserving them till the day of judgement
and we have been kept blind to see anything from them
for their seeing will be unfolded only to those blinds living in that valley
Give a message to them from us
“soon the gloom will end
and for them the beautiful worlds are waiting”

Suddenly I opened my eyes
and my beard was drenched in tears
I opened the window of my room
and saw a beautiful sunlight waiting to depart
the night I was in pursuit had just begun
but the weight of despair in me had already been lightened

Posted in Poetry

Mother’s Curse in Kashmir

We will not let our voice die

even if they will cage us for lifetime

we will keep reciting the words of suffering

we will keep revising every story of brutality

 

They can raid our homes in nights

they can make a father stand

outside the jail to inquire about his son

But which weapon will they use

to break the struggle in us

we are not like the bird

which will die in the cage

In us remains the fight for justice

and the witness remain these desolated towns

 

keep rising in the sky of tyranny

that too by our blood as the fuel

yours is the next fall in the history

that we would read in our pages of revolution

 

our tears are out of our pain

your smirk is out your deceit

you decorated our land with the graves

we decorated those martyrs in our hearts

 

what you owe to those mothers in Kashmir,

do you know?

their sons

and you are now the victims of their curses

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