Give me something, something to hold on
Even a hope that may last for century
A hope that will promise an end
To blood reeking robes, to this servility
In the valley of saints, shepherds were fettered
Wolves were allowed to guard the sheep
Who took away lambs and skewered them
Such heroics, such gallantry!
I swear! Her tears will drown them all,
Another orphan gone!
Who will console her? They even caged her destiny
Give me glad tidings after I die
Write to me: “No one was killed today.”
Our correspondence will be possible
Like that half widow complaining to her husband
Who was picked up for questioning but never did return.
How she explains to him health of his mother.
His Yaqoob waiting for Yousuf.
How she tells him about their orphan
His first toy she made, His first lullaby.
Look! she still prays for her lost love
“Be safe and return soon?!”
She still hopes of his return!
On that day, what the orphan will say?
When he will hug his father.
Should he call him ‘Abu’ or would he like to hear ‘Daddy’?
Or will their union be as silent as any unmarked grave?
Looking at each other crying till eternity?
Yaqoob was blind, now Yousuf will be.
So will this Hajira holding Ismael.
Tell Noah his child didn’t go astray
He climbed that mountain just to be safe
From the river of fire that flooded Himalayas
From hounds and wolves searching for prey
From this world of dismay!
They thought they will break us
Then feed us to those hounds kept at bay
The pandit was ripped apart from mullah
History was distorted as if Child’s play!
They tore Yousuf’s shirt meant for Yaqoob
Only our determination could they never slay.
Listen to the chinar that grows near my grave
Be patient and hear him say.
He has seen bodies stitched with bullets at night
Shadows torn, hopes lynched, mutilation of day
That mourner who became martyr
Wept for his beloved and shouted to thee
“Our soul were robbed my dear
Our guilt was being a Kashmiri”