Flames of Blood

Ferocity, cruelty, barbarity, and pain

Kashmir’s progeny butchered in vain
Blooded streets and souls ripped apart
Wounded bodies with a kindled heart
THEY shoot and break bones
THEY suppose guns are equal to stones
Oh look THEY’ve blinded the vale
Scared caricatures, yet we sail
THEY cremated the cuddly homes
There stands nothing but rags, ruins and domes
A mother whose end is nigh
Waits for her son to sing him a lullaby
Myrtle stained her hands ruby red
When she knew not her husband was alive or dead

Labeled as a half-widow
Eagerly awaits and perishes by the window
She sobs on and sniffs to the pillow of her father
Kisses forehead, tethers shroud and bids adieu to her brother
Martyr wreathe garlands and in unison, they thrum
Stand In queues for more to come
A mother who wailed, a father who cried
No one heard their pleas and the politicians lied
We’re beaten we’re shackled we’re raped
We’re muzzled and the reality is neatly draped
There isn’t a day
When a poor guy isn’t booked under PSA
The chinar that stand in arcades
Have watched the valley burning since decades
Blood fragrant as musk, pure as a verse
Deep as saffron alas caught in this cruel curse
We will roam freely and find our way
No bloodshed, peace and just peace one day!

From the Author:
“I was born in turmoil. My entire childhood, I have seen flowers scented with rotten blood, mountains that bury martyrs deep within them, and rivers that wash the fresh henna off the hands.

My home has been aching while and all the others have been mere spectators of the wounds that they gave. We fear no death anymore as He never betrayed us rather visits us so often like a dear friend.” -Sawab

Picture by Tao Wen (Unsplash)



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