by Huma Bhat
They shed our blood
merely to slake their ego
But everytime they forget
They, too, will bite the dust
They who have the hanger
for the blood of humanity
One day the hands of despotism too
will become cold and dead
Our blood might quench their thirst
but for how long we shall endure?
The skies and the mountains outcry,
Praying rugs drenched in tears of blood,
Our roses procure "martyrdom",
They have flitted to the heavens,
how can half-mothers sleep tonight?
how can they calm their inner tonight?
Written is on the leaves of chinar
"The tales of disappeared buds of decades"
The spring sun looks gloomy here
saffron fields lay barren and colourless,
O ' ye Lord!
Be my 'GUEST' tonight and see
how the tyrants burn my heaven to ashes,
With no noise,
no smoke,
no sensations
and,
No "feelings" thereafter.
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Our feature on the art of Kashmiri resistance is available here
Huma Bhat is a poet who happens to hail from Srinagar, Kashmir.