You say its your’s, they say its there’s
Nobody harks my Voice that its mine.
You say You are Killing them, they say the otherwise…..
But, I say both of you are killing me..
Ya, incur into this Conflict Zone….Where,,
Blood is flowing ubiquitously,,
Where skies gloom with a spark of earth… underneath,
Asseverating that We cry with you, bleed with you
your grief is not concealed to us, thus we espouse Black attire…
My life here is fallacious, am scared if I survive throughout
I See death everywhere, the blood is no more scary..
My ears are prone to the rattling gun..
My eyes don’t cry..they say the glands are dry…
My mind is befuddled, Humans are huddled…
Nooses are tightened, Gun powder is nebulized.
Women widowed, orphans are birthed
ya, that is the plight of a zone conflicted
I see my life threatened, my affairs undermined…
my future treason-ed and my wealth petrified…
They say i behave abnormal…think anomalous..
diagnose me with stress and depression,,,stagnant bowl cavity
pessimistic mental state…illicit drug usage as they declare..
They enqiuire, why do I write sadism..death and fear..
cry and gloom,,,,,hell and fire,,,Darfur and Kashmir
why not life and love..gardens and flowers…
mysticism and nature…
tell them, why should I ?
I have witnessed the encounter of Inayat, a cripple,,,
that of Sameer rah, a boy of eight…thousands of such..
are at the back of my mind…snivel of that old woman…
who is awaiting the return of her son from twenty years
has given me insomnia and sleep apnea…
Verily, I am A Boy of Conflict
And, this is my state of affairs.
(Published by: The Kashmir Walla, Panaroma Zine)