…. ..

Wings flattering to get the affection of flight , mountains aspiring to heights , children’s ceasing to dance , light overpowering dark . Where has it come , A halo so shallow. Life is mauled and I lay deep thinking at the stars. Not the poet , nor a theatre person I am a man of bullets and reason.

A week before , I was discussing a birthday surprise for my favourite sister in the family.  And to this we never had a chance to eat the bite of the ordered , unreached cake.  My father asked me is the internet working? And I said no , but i had wanted it so bad. Internet which is making every step to join humanity was banned. It was stopped by ( I-Dont – know – what – to – call – them ) …. I was called downstairs for tea and while I was waiting for my father at dastar Khan ,  news flash and thirty dead. This is zulum(Atrocities) , my father whispered and sipped a hot namkeen chai, famous all over Kashmir.  It is strange to see the earning hand of your family sitting idle in house doing nothing .  Some may call it a family time but I call it a Hostage life.  Devoid of everything. Devoid of food ,  medicines and freedom to travel. The architecture of Kashmir houses is such that we have a house that we can tour. Thank God for that. But many people still don’t have that and live in a one storyed house. But luckily , I have been lucky enough to get  a house of three storey where in the life of Hostage I can at least roam.  From one room to another , Kitchen to Hall , Hall to dinning and then sleep. Like you are already dead the other morning.  Days passed and I saw my father along my side every day and every night . Well for my mother it was a summer vacation turned into a threat as she is a teacher in a local government school.  We watched news every day and followed their instruction. ” Tomorrow is curfew”

“Hartal*

“Kashmir bandh “. The best part about this  is , the announcement of mornings through chirping birds because its so silent out there that even an ant can’t escape your instinct.  Thirty plus dead as a news channel shouted. “Shivers and misery across the valley.”

“Beautiful valley succumbed”. As these headlines captured every eye of us , the freedom seekers lost theirs. Bullets, bomb shells and what not. Life is miserable. And nicely elaborated by the army men. Men in the uniforms , like naked bullets.

A woman aged sixty , when asked about her heath condition said :-

” I was sitting in my home. They ( army men) came and dragged us from our rooms. It was me and my son who was beaten and whose voices remain choked. Where to go , where to check in. This is happening since 90’s , is it ever going to end”.

Its the seventh day of full complete shutdown in Kashmir valley. I ask a question do you sometimes feel a threat inside your own house? Threat of being dragged to the dirtiest hole on earth.  Nothing stops and nothing starts. Its always in the middle and edge. It is always about the valley on edge. It is always about the blood. Its always about the freedom. A seven letter word , a seven day of restrictions a resurrection is all we need a resurrection.

 

 

The Empty Blurb.

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The brown blurb kept on the left side of her , was empty . Her mind floated through many memories of present which haunted her future. Yes , they were the memories of present. It happened once , she sat on a bench whispering to herself about life and the art  of living it life . She decided to not just whisper  but  practice it . In front of her came an image of a character from her favorite novel Elizabeth Bennett , by Jane Austen from Pride and Prejudice. She hated to read the book in the Victorian literature class but somehow it carved the meaning for her life . Time was nothing to her and she did her best to travel along with it. Life , to her was a mirage. Like whenever she was asked to define life she always faked a smile. It was a fine day of April. Flowers were blossoming and it was a unique hour. A definite sense of something will happen , good or bad she didn’t know. But she flowed within it. An acquaintance offered her a meeting with a friend and she said “It’s been long” , lets go. They walked with each passing wave of wind going through her empty channels like a good news on the way. He said “Hi” , she said “Hey“. Untamed in love she traveled through it , surpassing all the odds and evens. It was a frightful experience , though she smiled. At that moment she knew she was going to abandon it in the deepest of her chambers. Time flew and we came to future which was bright and happy . Friends deceived and left  but one thing remained constant that “Hie” because somewhere in the universe it was accepted. Days passed giggling and each day went announcing it to be the best day , clouds collided  with each day bringing in the lover’s smile and indefinite scars.The room became haunted of the people blaming her of being immoral , but she went on like the waves of the ocean. I loved her even more but hated the outcome. I loved the wilderness but i knew deep down it was a misery. Finally , the day had yet to arrive. But she thought about it. The final good bye , the final smile , that final pulling of each other’s tail ,how could they not stick together. Was this the play of time? Nobody knew the answer. But time had come to the full circle. And it was this which they were deceiving .I had come in between and i was the creator. Destiny had failed them , and everything collapsed. She came back to the center hating each and every hour of her happiness while he had them the only treasure ,reminiscing  till he had the power. The center had won , the life was dead. The line crossed between became the experience. I asked both of them , whose fault? She replied quick TIME’S.

Like a poetry.

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The girl I saw in my dream,

She was wearing a black gown

Metaphorically the ghost

She talked to me , ate food

She walked like a poetry.

Her alliteration of face

Was such as that of a haze

I wandered back and forth

Was I in love with her similies?

Another moment pass

And I see a man , coming ironically

I was in a gaze of many , but I smirked

The consonants of the man led me wonder

Are they the aspirants of love?

They talked in numerously extreme

I looked there paradoxically

Sometimes what happens is not the end of the story

She came to me and introduced

Her ring on the left end

It ended all the waves in me

I left the town and woke up in misery.

Broken soul.

broken

I had a narrow escape

The one you are in dream

I chased not to sleep

But I closed my eyes

Again , in the wunderlust

I was drowned in the interrogation

Who was I ?

Human to the basic

My soul needed ggenerations

Bards have told me to chant

I can’t to ONE

For me even a stone is miraculous

I am a savage , I run here and there

Birds follow me

Prick me for flight

I try flying

And I realize

With a broken wing none has flied .

Old.

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Photographs lying on my side

I grabbed my spectacles lying on the floor

Trying to fit between the misfit

Generations won’t understand generations

I have been kind and sober

Reflections of past younger

Mama broke down and said she was alone

I said read and be powerful

Daddy was ever grateful and sweet

Mama had this desire of togetherness

My old folks are the best peeps

My greatest gangs and lovebirds

Fights and foods they all have now

I think none has a friend like my

Mama and daady

Oooh aaah ooooooo

I am sorry I had to leave you alone

But coming back home makes me old

I am not the same kid you used to tickle

I have dark shades ,people to trust , and memories

Let’s not forget we are family

And tonight I stay with you

No mama no nightmare daddy is around you I am there

We are going to be back again

Close your eyes it was just a dream

Old is an analogy to dream

You are younger younger then me.

And I love you like never before

Trust me as I sail another boat.