After the Rain

After the rain, the sun shines bright. The sky becomes blue and opens the doors of heaven. The whiteness of clouds appear like a crown on the mountain tops. Some strains of whiteness appear like the ship sailing in the sea of blueness.

The bright light glitters the grass and lamina of leaves reflect the freedom of freshness and vigor. The eyes hide the story of rain and enjoy the rhymes of sun. The heart wants to roam in the open fields to see the horizon.

Farmers go out after the happiness of rain to see the life in soil. A smile is placed of the sloped roofs when the novel light shines the remain of rain. They have already played their music, now is the time for them to glare bright. The story continues after the rain.

https://www.voubs.com/photo/sun-after-rain/

Tyrannical Wall…#Kashmir

O tyrants!
We will rise
above the size
of your tyrannical wall
to see your great fall

You owe what you can never repay
Your suppression tore the pages of happiness
We dreamt of listening the nightingale in the exquisite evening
But we heard only the cries from the ailing souls
The rivers no more feel the same
Our ears have left to listen to their melody
The apples are plucked by heavy hearts
Which feel the separation like a fish without sea


Everything of us can die, but not the hope
We have to and we will stand
Your days are like the drying river
Whose bottom will crack under the scorching sun
Our hopes are its rays that will burn your pride

Imprisioned …# Kashmir

Even if I choose to remain quiet
My emotions ignites the voice within
I can’t help my hands to rest
They want to write the plight of my soul
Now, I don’t introduce my name to the people
I simply say them from where I belong
And I am alive by the grace of God


My conscious have become insomniac
It keeps rattling with the stories of my valley
I know, Kashmir is burning
I keep searching ashes in my dreams
But I find soil drenched in tears
My soul curses these tyrants and their tyranny
I break when I imagine a mother
Who tells her son to wake up from the sleep of death
she knows, tomorrow there would no sun for her son
Because these tyrants have slaughtered him to death


Stories of Autumn have faded deep in winter
Now we see seasons changing in a day
Either bloody or dry
Imprisioned inside the bricks of our own
Afraid to look out of the window
Because weak glass pans can’t save you
Only God can listen
To the imprisioned hearts inside imprisioned homes