The home I could never visit,

The heaven which has its history with blood in it

Fuming red with the sky so blue

Every moment brings something new

A new murder, a new tragedy

The pattern never changes

What is your strategy?

Unanswered calls

Letters left on read

No bridges, only walls

I ask, is humanity dead?

You talk of building temples

Yet disrespect the life they create

My powerlessness dictates my fate

My home was my temple

The one you left in shambles

My mother cried in despair

While my father was being killed

The red bangles on her hand became

Broken shards picked up by his heir

Her cries so loud,

They shook the world

Yet you asked “what does she cry about”

You ignore the voices you just heard

The country you abandoned,

May its memories haunt you forever

While our freedom you reckoned,

I lost my father, brother and lover

I tried so hard to make this rhyme

But how does one romanticise a crime?

My shahid tells me, ”mad heart, be brave”

He says so because we have too many goodbyes left to wave

Azaadi and my Kashmir don’t go hand in hand

Is it indeed what they call it,

God’s land?

 

– Ananyaa Mihir, Queen Mary’s School, Delhi

16 Likes

2 Comments

Leave a Reply