Kashmir Unheard
Walking down the Bab e Syed and sipping the coffee
And thinking about the one who has gone to fetch the toffee
I was reading here in M.A Library
But my soul was somewhere in Kashmir
Kashmir, the first kingdom after Indus
Kashmir, the older and placid than Pakistan
Wandering through the verdant valleys
Which ricochet the sounds of bullets
Its air fresh and pristine
Mingled with the smoke of teargas
Tranquility is the glory of Pir Panchal
Which no longer listen the wails of elephants
But Mihirakula still glaring heinously
Pushing woebegone human down the canyon
Vultures roam over his gory army
But alas the victims remained unheard
Their voices stopped by the blanket of snow
Which once stopped the mighty army of Chengez
The whimsy Zabarwan behind the tulips
Stood mundanely with a fake smile
Like the dismayed kashmiri half mother
Waiting for her son to return
In the extensive garden in its lap
The mournful yells could be heard
Perhaps the cries of neighbouring Papa 2
Which these mesmerising mountains always echoed
Incarcerated youth from Srinagar periphery
Amid flogging he shrieks, ‘he knows nothing’
A brisk mooch over the Zero Bridge
Under which the Jhelum flows red
It no longer carries the dismembered bodies
Or the water has turned pristine to turbid
Right from its inception to the posh city
Claimed to be of seven bridges
It has been the shield of forces
And sentries licenced to kill
Above the welkin was still crimson
Below the Jhelum flows dumbfounded
Swervely ambling through the doleful ghats
With sobs and murmurs down the Gaw Kadal
Humming the waakh of Lala Ded
Or a soulful song of Habba Khatoon
Bidding farewell to her beloved
As Yousuf was taken for eternity
The sundry tulips were tweezed there
Before they could catch the glimpse of sun
The short expedition down the Buleward
Towards the Dhara Shokh Library
The prince agonising in a corner
Perhaps the swizz ambiance of the vale
Then a loud yell bump my ears
And the prodigy Indian next to me
Juddered me up and want to know
Kashmir, Cashmir, Qashmir, Cashmere
I was dithering about what to say
About the country wallowing in upheaval
No doubt you are the land of springs
O Kashmir, you are lakhs of killings
Everyday of you is nasty and chafer
O Kashmir, you are Aasiya and Nelofer
Your past was adorable, your present is dismal
O Kashmir, you are the innocence of Afzal
You are the witness to exiles and diaspora
O Kashmir, you are the home to Kunnan and Poshpora
Be it the South’s Bijbhara or North’s Bandipora
O Kashmir, you are the massacre of Chattisinghpora
Sitting in the library of A.M.U
Let me not forget the massacre of Jammu
How many ordeals would I aggregate
O Kashmir, you are made to segregate
I don’t want all your miseries address
For which I would have to redress
Then cordially a gentle cove stanched it
When my pen was bleeding profusely
His angry eyes stared at me
He grabbed my pen and snatched it
What have I earned in writing the veracity
Other than duress, suppress and death?
Earth eroded under my feet
When Robert Throp he said his name
The pen slipped from his adept hands
When the bell chimmed at Victoria Gate
While elephants and human continue to fell
In the bosom of the dreadful gorge
Like the youth at the Frisal periphery
Who silently embraced the death
Mihirakula and his coterie continue to mock
Smirk and laugh at the victims unheard
The poet is pursuing bachelors in English literature at Aligarh Muslim University and hails from Frisal Kulgam Kashmir. He can be reached at pala.abid@gmail.com
