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Kashmir Unheard

Kashmir Unheard
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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

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