Fire, dust, ash and soot Have settled, at last, Over the petals of red, I had planted for You, And to adorn your coming. But, Love, war brews my land, Melting skins and identities to unknowns and graves, Walk with me then, In these lanes of despair, Can you see spring lying barren?
Blood, flesh, and corpses, Now run down these lanes, I had adorned for your coming; But, Love, step here to see How I live in occupation, Amid cemeteries of hearts And eyes bleeding an undying pain; Can you hear the sighs of darkness, And the mournings of days?
We are at a war, beloved, Yet to reconcile, Wait for me at the gates Belonging to freedom, And we shall walk hand in hand Stitching every wound, We shall meet when the war is done
Kashmir has been a living irony before our eyes. Everytime we tend to look for a hope in our lives and circumstances we actually hold on to another disappointment coming to us. There is no humanity left among so called "humans" and surely no better days coming to our so called paradise. We are being fed with candied poisons, and deceptive speeches. As the world suffers in this catastrophe, war in our home never finds rest. Every hand ready to slit the throat of other while we bear every outcome. Being a part of this land , it kills me to see innocence bleeding at hands of power and we stitches of freedom to speak Will peace someday be ours? Will there be humanity again?
Mujhe b to din bahaarun k dekhne the Khwaab dilsoz nazaarun k dekhne the
Mere chaman mai b phool khilte kabhi Tabeer apne khwaabun k dekhne the
Mujhe b to aasmaanu mai udhna tha Raaste haseen sitaarun k dekhne the
Chand pe mujhe b ek ghar banana tha Din apne mazboot iraadun k dekhne the
Mere husn pe b tum Ghazal likhte Rameez Rang tere ash'aarun k dekhne the
I have my identity inherited, What is it you wish to make me? These moulds of yours Only break me into pieces, Don't you see, they do not fit?
You took away what had been mine, Making me bleed everyday With whips of your deception: I stood on my land, You marked it yours; I shouted in the streets, You desolated them; I tried to speak, You buried my voice; I wished to see my kins, You locked me down.
Isn't this my home Which you have chained in lust? Offering every brick To those who are not me.
Isn't this my room Unasked which you have inhabited? Living all you desire by While strangling mine in dead nights.
Isn't this my land Which you have painted crimson? Ornamenting them with medals And facades of patriotism.
What is it you are made of That cannot empathize with suffering? What is it you actually are Attired in human shape and skin?
You cannot be me, Do you listen? You cannot be what I am, You do not share same blood Which flows in my veins, You do not share same essence, Which my land has bequeathed.
I was beaten and blinded, I was locked and raped, I was removed and killed, I was burnt and buried, All this I suffered for my land, Which you gift them as charity.
Can they be me? Will they suffer like me? They never struggled for me They can never be me.
They raged a war in small country far away from from eastern and western parts of world, when they banged my father infront of my young eyes , i saw my anger rubbing my palms my soul asking me to revolt back but my weak mind stopped me told me to bury this pain inside, and that day i told my father to teach me about this tyranny , teach me why they fear us under gun songs ,? my father voiced "son " they shattered every abode of my country down into ripped wet soil , where i saw bricks with pieces, where i saw my people in red eyes crying the tears of jehlum and there soul drowning in halves, and he told me " son" looks all over this map see how colourful world smells ,and then he pointed his finger on small place , and whispered to me " son " see this piece of land here more graves are flowered then houses , here more coffins are carried then the stars in the sky , this places sunrise isn't in lullabies of birds , it's in choas and sound of soul piercing bullets, here sunset isn't just with red sky , you will see all streets and walls stained with the blood full of innocent red, here every season has witnessed bloodshed , you can ask jehlum he is evident of all the atriocites , the jehlum has seen bucket full of blood and tankers full of dead , it's voice will speak oneday for all the pain it carried , the jehlum will cry all oppressions it had been in . " son " you will see brides lehanga with blood marks as his groom is decorated with bullets, and you will see mother wailing all days when his shahid departs so young. "son "here everyone is crying and waiting for people who never returned back, and here sister's are waiting for brothers to ring the bells of the home once, here every one has mourned the pain, here people are full of revolution , but there tongues are sealed with opression , and "son" we will bloom one day , our streets will be written with names of martyrs and poetry of agha shahid ali , our roses will smell , our jehlum will breath, our sky will be colourful , our abodes will be high . "son" one day we will boot down this oppression , and we will scream on louder speaker the songs of freedom.
I don't know why I decided to post it here. It's just that I'm deeply saddened by the loss we suffered yesterday in the Nawakadal massacre by the government. Dozens of houses were burt to ashes and around 70-80 people rendered homeless. The jewellery, household essentials even the gas cylinders were looted by the army. People were beaten ruthlessly.People jumped from windows with their pregnant wives and elderly people in order to rescue themselves.Guns were put into their mouths and pepper sprayed in their eyes.People are still in shock and not in a position to recall what had happened to them in just one single day. Burnt and torn quran were recovered from the houses on which the army had stepped with their mud laden shoes. It was made sure that the locals should not be left with even one single meal as all the food was mixed with pieces of glass and The local masjid committee has now decided to make an effort and rebuild Nawakadal. The efforts are futile if people like us don't reach out to time. Let's donate for noble cause for the sake of humanity and not religion or region.Let's DONATE for their Eid. For the lost smile.
In the following post I'll be attaching the photographs of the entire scene.