Reeling
Under the darkness
Of this ruthless occupation
I am Kashmir
Striving to see the dawn of life
Amid
The hopes
Entangled in concertina wires.
I am like a pet parrot
Caged in my castle
Compelled to praise
My capturer.
I am the dweller
Of a new era
Pushed towards the stone age
I am Kashmir
My identity is rage.
I am a book, unread yet
My pages are inked red
I am black, I am dead
I am a deaf, I am yed.
My blank pages
Speak volumes
Of my past, present and future
I am a diary
Not maintained yet
I wonder, still why?
My pages are inked red.
I am a Magazine
A newspaper and a journal
Serving the haunting tales
My stories are unusual
Be it headlines or masthead
My pages are inked red.
I am a canvas
Sketched with pieces of art
Letting the artist’s brush vent
My pages are inked red.
~ Imtiyaz Pandow
Budgam, J&K, India
Wow… Very true buddy. Heart melting…. Rise and shine always
The poet reveals the inner heart of Kashmir.. We feel, we cry..but nothing to do. We can say ourselves that we are the hollow men and we are the stuffed men…
I can’t tell how the poet has used the symbols, God bless you and give you more power to your ink…
Good brother, hearttouching words keep it up.