Bilal Ahmad / Younis Bashir

Photo courtesy : Bilal Ahmad

There are morning sun’s rays
And there is a bullet hole with many cracks
On my window through which the noise of a raging gunfire
Comes from my neighbourhood

Photo courtesy : Bilal Ahmad

Oh, it is time to wake up and look around
And assess what else bears the signs of loss
Stay, and wait for the magazines to empty
The last drop of blood to drain from the wounded

Photo courtesy : Bilal Ahmad

A few besieged men who just made a last phone call
To their loved ones with trepidation seeking forgiveness
Oh, they are dead now and no gun fire but flames are now raging
I see it all, I hear it all

Photo courtesy : Bilal Ahmad

The cries of people are drowning in the crackling fire
Which from above looks like a breathing dragon; it isn’t that
There are many of them burning and crumbling
I see it all, I hear it all

Photo courtesy : Bilal Ahmad

I hear the raging flames talking to children
Like they are their own part
With strange music, melancholy and rhythm
Ah, even the fire gazes in pity at us!

Photo courtesy : Bilal Ahmad

“O children! Weep beside your mothers
For your toys too are ashes turning
The wedding jewellery of your sisters and all that you owned
No compensation, neither will you be consoled

Photo courtesy : Bilal Ahmad

See, they are there, your fathers
Crying their hearts out as walls yield and roofs melt
Underneath, the heartbeats can still be felt
Of those you call rebels and they terrorist

Photo courtesy : Bilal Ahmad

Some dragged by rope and others by wrist
When they die and are found under the rubble
There is none who can get you out of this trouble
Even birds that fly free in the air

Photo courtesy : Bilal Ahmad

Feel choked on smoke and can’t bear
The plumes you think reach God’s throne
From where He watches the houses blown
By explosives that shake the earth

Photo courtesy : Bilal Ahmad

While some rejoice and dance with mirth
You, O’ children, are not the only to see it
From south to north this destruction does hit
Big and small, concrete and mud houses alike

Photo courtesy : Bilal Ahmad

In sun, snow and rain this calamity does strike
You asked why doesn’t the God his mercy show
What He thinks and what He says, we do not know”
And then I think of the pigeons of my neighbour

Photo courtesy : Bilal Ahmad

When they return from their flight
They will be homeless too
There is no maize left to feed them
But thousands of cartridge cases to sift from

Bilal Ahmad is a freelance multimedia journalist based in Kashmir. Younis Bashir is a journalist and writer based in Kashmir.