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We flow like a river

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Alma-mater

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A New Home

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Demons and Dragons

According to the Buddhist traditions, Kashmir was a large dragon lake. A prophecy of the Buddha said that after his death, a monk will establish a country in it and preach Buddhism in it. A few decades later, Madhyantika – a Buddhist monk fulfilled it.He forced the dragon to withdraw water from the lake so that he could start a civilisation. The dragon left the area and settled in a small…

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Yāras Rostui Eid Kosui

Yāras Rostui Eid Kosui

A verse from Kalām-e-Rahim of Sopore (1775-1850) “It gets so lonely at times, that you end up talking to the walls.” A friend of mine studying in the university that I had applied for told me. He came up with this when I was trying to mentally prepare myself for what challenges I was going to face. Loneliness made glamourous by poets and pop-culture is something many aren’t prepared for. In…

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Chiselling Paisleys

In the summer of 2003, not sure if it was 2003. But somewhere in the mid 2000s. I was coming back from school, as I entered my home, I met my cousins outside the gate of our house. They broke the news that my aunt who had been in the hospital for a while, passed away. (more…)

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The dead apricot tree

The dead apricot tree

Winters in the old country are long and dark. The clouds turn dark. The leaves of trees wither away. The greens turn grey. The blue waters of streams and rivers turn grey. The flowers vanish from gardens. The soil turns grey. The colours on the faces turn grey too. Wearing shades of grey doesn’t help the colour palette. As if the country that lives in the songs of blood and mourning wears its…

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Smells of my city

Smells of my city

“What does your city smell like?”It smells of gunpowder and rosesIt smells of the first drop of dew on the Yemberzaland the stains of blood in the Meadow of GoldSrinagar smells of love’s last resortand the lover’s heartbreak It smells of rotten apricotsand the pungent lakes It smells of military bunkersand the smell of food alien to my nose It smells of hurried gravesand the iris that grows…

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Kruhun Sheen - The Black Snow

Kruhun Sheen – The Black Snow

مُردِ یتہِ سأریأڈ زمینس باقئ قبرنولتھ یتھ سفیدقفنس سأتھ (more…)

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Blossoming Fists Steal our landreinvent our historysend in your armiesmanufacture your lies Jail the truth…

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Habibullah Sund Mazaar

Tath garmas manz yeli bi mazaar:as goas Yeti wuzchum Habibullah natchaan timan kochan manz Dopmas, Ashfaq kate rozaan Tem dopnam, “gobryah patthe kaen Yeti pyeth yi shuru tchu gasaan” Yi oas poshebagah yath gul easni magar tchu yi tehreekuk gulistaanah Yi oas ni badshahov banovmut, Oshav khonmut, khunav sag dyutmut yi tchu malguzaar:ah badal Ashfaq’nis shaan:as tchu Hamid ti Hamid’nis shaan:as tchu Maqbool T…

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Di Mya Shongne Az

Di Mya Shongne Az

Az tchus setha thokmut di mya shongne az Yi raath tchane sapdaan, magar di mya shongne az Duh:as tcha ashkawar dih ti shamaas dilas dag zalaan magar di mya shongne az Dapaan, penj:an tcha haankle ti eas:as tchu thop agar yi qaum tchu shangeth bi kyaz teli hushaar? di mya shongne az Timan zindan:an manz tche kam kam Sultan dafnevith Kus Sartaj ti Kim kim Malik Tath krihin:is angates manz di mya shogne az

Wana…

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Donkey Brayers

Afghan Legend that applies to Kashmiri Society:

Once upon a time in Afghanistan, a husband took his wife to the city from the village. The wife rode on a donkey while the husband walked. As they reached the city,

One man commented, “The husband is the head of the family. How can the wife ride on the donkey while the husband is on foot?”

Hearing this, the wife quickly got down and let the husband…

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Anees Ahmad Ganai, 17

Anees Ahmad Ganai, 17

It was a sunny day in August, Anees had gone out from his home to add his phone credit. It was a curfew outside. There was a group of protesters pitted against the troops which had lined up a little distance from the crowd. Suddenly the CRPF troopers charged towards the crowd. The people, young and old ran into the small lanes to protect themselves from the wrath of the troops. Anees was caught…

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The Executions

Scene 1: My cheeks hurt is a cold wintry wind that is shaking the Chinars. The nearby hills are covered with a dense layer of fog. The drops from the tap has turned into an icicle through the night. There is not a single soul walking in the city square. Crows and Ravens are eating the grains left by an Old man who came after praying Fajr in the nearby mosque. There is no sight of pigeons and…

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Naseeb

Only Karbala could frame our grief – Agha Shahid Ali

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When we are born, a bullet is manufactured in a gun factory. As we grow up, the bullet chases us. We are in a race to see who wins. Do I win or do I bite the bullet. If the bullet wins, I die. If I win, I most likely will carry those on my shoulders who couldn’t.

Agha Shahid Ali in one his poems says, “Everyone carries his address in…

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Languages of Occupied Territories

Languages of Occupied Territories

I speak Kashmiri better than my English. I write English better than my Kashmiri. In Urdu, I read poetry. In Turkish, I survive. Arabic are my prayers. But I dream in Kashmiri and that’s all that matters.

‘I don’t know words or syntaxes or meters. I am a fraud poet. My vocabulary is mesh of half-learnt languages. I am not good at any of those. But I too feel things.’

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Mazarek Poash

Yim marān tim marguzāran Yim zindι tim marguzārik pōš Yeti grēd zāgith zor divan hathiarās Yeti gāš dafan zinde inquilābuk josh

Those who die are in graveyards Those who live become graveyard poppy Here vultures prevail with their weapons Lies buried here the power of revolution

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