A Long Awaited Freedom
break free from the chains of curfew,
till every blood drop falls onto the bloodied streets,
till each breath ceases and
Heaven wakes up to our call.
In the crowded lanes of Delhi
I hear the unsung
melodies of emancipation,
Koyal adds to the music of Freedom,
the deadly silence before the
and waves of intifada soar up
to the skies.
The frozen hearts witness the death of a
like late winter nights swallow the warmth of
Summer stands a witness to the coldness of the world.
Dusk carefully listens to the stories of twilight,
In every story the Hero dies
Gloom wails, moon shines, and Yusuf still pleads
for his innocence
and in each Yusuf a generation dies.
Idea is a dynamic that flows
like the gardens of my homeland
where Sufis dance
to ecstasy and each swirl is a wave of revolution
beyond the chains of slavery.
Have a look my beloved,
at these unread letters, covered
with dust and blood – narrating the fate
of a wounded Vale beyond those mountains
and beneath this mournful sky.
Sit closer by my side
and feel the numbness,
hear the sobs of my incinerated soul.
Like a brook makes its way
around different rocks,
so shall Kashmir,
the whole story shall be narrated to the deaf world.
Look into my tearful eyes,
the lost love won’t return… I await none
of your calls
but a fresh breeze from my homeland.
I see, a thousand miles away,
smoke rises behind the mountains
darkening the whole of earth.
the aroma of freedom,
the chains broken and the pigeons
return from the cage.
Regimes are thorns
and all thorns fall away with time
and nothing is left
to puncture the wings of dove
that flies free
in limitless skies, beyond the horizon.
Khubaib Mujtaba is a student of English Literature at University of Delhi and can be mailed at firstname.lastname@example.org
Disclaimer: Views expressed are exclusively personal and do not reflect the stand or policy of Oracle Opinions.