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  • fahidhameed 1w

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  • fahidhameed 3w

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  • fahidhameed 4w

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  • fahidhameed 4w

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  • fahidhameed 4w

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  • fahidhameed 6w

    "In your voice even the massacres
    sound of hope"

    @readwriteunite @writersnetwork

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  • fahidhameed 8w

    Last post maybe.

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  • fahidhameed 8w

    Wintery visitor this city is doomed on your arrival,
    Let alone people, even rivers are curfewed on your arrival.

    The flowers you left have wilted and tulips died
    Graveyards, not hearts, have blossomed on your arrival.

    Beauty that you see from a distance will fade,
    Like Kashmir, I shall open up my wound(s) on your arrival.

    If numbness be all that's left and beloved you feel cold
    We will set Jhelum on fire― as promised― on your arrival.

    No saint is pure, just you my love; and if you return
    every shrine will turn away it's saint allied, on your arrival.

    Infidel if he sells you the blood why not buy it,
    this trader will sell you Kashmir one day on your arrival.

    @writersnetwork #thoughts #diary #life #poetry

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  • fahidhameed 9w

    There is loneliness in her arms― the streets are empty– call it separation
    I have no home to visit, my love has turned me away, call it separation.

    Two roads I knew, in middle of this city, always ended at her footsteps
    The world has stopped: these roads go no nowhere today― call it separation.

    Beloved no more calls me to Kaaba, nor to Karbala, maybe I'm impure―
    He is in my heart yet still very faraway― call it separation.

    She has emptied all her sorrows in the presence of strangers,
    my chest is no more her home ― they now say: call it separation.

    Infidel, he is always there for you, what more reasons do you need to love him?
    Some don't see him only when some don't want to― why call it separation?


    @readwriteunite @writersnetwork

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  • fahidhameed 10w

    No flowers blossom, no bird flies home, this city is under curfew,
    I talk to your picture: where are you, my love? this city is under curfew.

    Your emptiness is so famous that people call it August―
    you are remembered every time this city is under curfew

    Your phone's ring, and still you call it a lockdown? You know― here― how she finds he is alive?
    She reads names of dead on newspapers, every time (t)his city is under curfew.

    She has not forgotten, love still lies even after so many wars,
    If not her letters, her graffiti's say, stay alive while this city is under curfew.

    On a map, someone wanted me to locate which part is under the siege,
    I pointed at my heart and said: here, this city is under curfew


    @writersnetwork

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