Walking under the quite Chinar trees,
Suddenly a leaf of it hit my forehead,
As I grabbed it in my hands, let's my mind freeze,
I remembered that day when I was going to bed.

The time felt so familiar,
I was a little kid,
Playing with kids all so similar,
The weather was peaceful.

Next day the riots break,
People shooting others like a freak,
The war was not among angel and demons,
It was among religions.
This led to our families heartbreak,
And we left Kashmir,
As in our mind was a crack.

I bought a young Chinar plant,
But was too young to understand,
That the plants need a perfect weather to implant.
Those small little leaves withered,
And all I did was shattered.

The only desire I'm my young mind
Was to have my own house.
With a yellow Chinar in my home
In winters, and myself sitting
Inside that tree in blanket
Like a mouse.

Shall I tell Spring?
That you have clutched a pair of flowers
Withered in your hands
They resemble us...

Shall I tell summer?
That your lips and eyes have parched
By the vehement love
So long ago.

Shall I tell autumn?
That your heart has grown crispier
More tender than Chinar leaves
Trampled by me.

Shall I tell winter?
Your ***** is so frozen
No longer which, yearns for warmth
So fragile to split.
~
Her Orchards of Despair
-Mirza Sharafat Hussain