A Dirge From My Shrieked Silence

to my every step, there’s a uniformed man whose hands are soaked, in blood of my brethren would kill me, if I resist to be oppressed senses of the world leaders get defunct, when there’s any question of violations in my homeland how can I agree with the comment of heaven!!! my eyes are witness to red color streets & rivers only! I see children battling for eyesight & life I see myself in sand of despondency my pen also failed, as it tried to console me by writing colorful words day & night, all the time my soul asks me a same question: am I still alive?? as after witnessing the bloodbath, I had bought my shroud… the wails of those who mourn, are reverberating in my soul who knows what life is! none in this country torn clothes have become nightmares for women crowd as timorous for children every corner of my homeland has become a corpse alike I see my diary full of blood whilst writing my ordeal the blood of my brethren I see, is the answer to your curiosity I do not see any colour except red, as it has become my identity my Kashmir is my Kashmir, choked on earth for its spellbinding beauty now birds & trees have also learnt how to offer funeral prayers as we have been caged by our occupier no people are needed, my oppressor says but to show its deceitful care to the world, I’m integral to him now my eyes do not see the dreams of mounts, gardens, esthetics of my Kashmir they only see coffins of children being ferried to graveyards and still I’ve a question, am I still alive? or it’s a reverie…