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Bashir Ali Najar Nov 2018
I sat along the golden leaves of chinars
Autumn working like a zinner....
The nest lay unlatched ,
The stars above uncatched..
The spectre of winter embezzle every Hope of spring...
The snow puffs primed to Hug the buttercups .....
The Heart ablazed with the thoughts of death,
When the spring accompanying Autumn !!!!
When I "ll be laid in the bottom ....
At the end we r going there
Bashir Ali Najar Nov 2018
I SAT ON THE EDGE OF CREEK
The moss on the boulder sleek..
The viridescent carpet all grey
Beneath sapling an old man lay ..
Wrinkled face, ripped hands,
Wearing pheran, shabby lands,
Scuffing eyes
Where pain lies !
Beyond tree line
Is the Alpine
Where
The sun always shines...
The Autumn exploring the bottom,
Chinars burning,
Children mourning...
Beyond Chinars is my House,
And that is the place
Where is my Spouse
That is the place
Where is my spouse....

Rayees Ali Najar
Everythig is meant for you paree
I come from Kashmir
where land is green & white snow bed
and I come from Kashmir
where roads aren’t black but are red.

I come from Kashmir
where Daughter Tajamul brought Gold
and I come from Kashmir
where daughter Nafiya craves for her father’s body and lost his soul.

I come from Kashmir
where journalists get Peter Mackler & Pulitzer awards
and yet I come from Kashmir
where journalists get charged under UAPA as a reward.

I come from Kashmir
where Thekedar gets benefits under the Roshni Act
and I come from Kashmir
where an internet shutdown of 551 days was for every sect.

I come from Kashmir
where Gupta g ranked 1st in the country
and yet I come from Kashmir
where youth have to carry ID’s to prove their identity.

I come from Kashmir
which was known for its cultural dress Pheran
and I come from Kashmir
which now has more business in selling Kaffan.

I come from Kashmir
which Allama called the valley of braves
and I come from Kashmir
which now is the valley of Graves.

I come from Kashmir
which was called Earth’s Heaven
and yet I come from Kashmir
which now is the World’s Biggest Prison.

I come from Kashmir
where Chinars paint the autumn gold
and I come from Kashmir
where every spring, new tombstones unfold.

I come from Kashmir
where Dal Lake mirrors the moon’s glow
and I come from Kashmir
where blood taints the rivers’ flow.

I come from Kashmir
where children dream of books and play
and I come from Kashmir
where childhoods vanish in smoke and clay.

I come from Kashmir
where lovers once whispered in gardens wide
and yet I come from Kashmir
where silence now walks side by side.

I come from Kashmir
where poets wrote of love and fate
and yet I come from Kashmir
where verses now carry only weight.

I come from Kashmir
which history books fail to define
and I come from Kashmir
which lives between the headlines’ lines.
A voice from Kashmir—serene on the surface, deep with unspoken stories.
Satsih Verma  Nov 2017
Sometimes
Satsih Verma Nov 2017
Under the denuded
chinars, I stand
again, waiting for you.

The hawks were
pining, for a prey―
in morning prayers.

The chrysanthemums
stand in a row―
opening their hands.

Sometimes you
trace the plum scent
coming from lover's grave.
Abhay Sarkaria Dec 2024
Across the fields of saffron,
My beloved has been gone,
Looking at the withered fields,
Early dawn a peacock cries.

Chinars have shed four times
And eight times my faith
The lantern is getting dim,
I see the moon, he is late;
Till date, seventeen sweaters
I've weaved, looking at the gate,
Sitting on the chair
Mumbling the same hymn
I look at the fields,
Neither returns bloom nor him.
Abhay Sarkaria Dec 2024
If the god is true—
Why don't he fly me through the stars
And end these holy wars,
And why are they many?
When he is one,
When he is the only father to many a son,
When he is mine as well as thine—
Be his child and surrender,
Behold a day from the eyes of mine:
I see a man in peace
And another man watering chinars
Children playing again in the streets
And I am flying through the stars,
All the bloodshed come to cease
And finally has ended all the holy wars.
Abhay Sarkaria Dec 2024
If the chinars are my home
Sorrows are my guest,
Guests that visit me often
And to whom I desire rest,

O' thou effulgent deity,
I leave before you, my sorrows;
Autumns were always my friend,
Bright clouds, Lovely winds
And rich meadows I want to attend,
This world has been cruel to me
I have lived a life of great misery,
Now this man is full of sleep,
Let me kiss thy effulgent feet
And end this never-ending weep.

— The End —