On Thursday evening
I pray near a Grave in Kashmir
Incense sticks
And candles
Lit in bundles
Aroma makes me feel
As I kneel

This is land of my forefathers
Where they rest
I too look for a place nearest
I belong to these graves
Here my soul craves
To sleep till eternity
In the Eden of divinity
What else I Should ask
That has more dignity
~
Mirza Sharafat

Another day goes by
as my temple of verses rests desolated,
with her laments succinct.

this curfew of imagination,
keeps the pilgrims (of thoughts)
sobering behind closed doors.

The valley is being robbed
of its flowers and fervor.

We both are dying slowly
but not as we once dreamed,
In winter,when it rains saffron
instead of snow.

And then
When the night nighed
Her beauty sighed
She looked again into mirror
Beauty scattered by any error
Her face is a piece of cheater
Expert as liar quite neater
Then smoke emanated
As if my wishes detonated
Glasses broke into pieces
Ashamed of reflecting her face
To my Love, this is disgrace

~
Mirza Sharafat

I was good at numbers
I was called to count dead
I was good at loom
I was asked to weave shrouds
I was good at tilling land
I was drafted to dig graves

Losing you is not an event or occasion..
It continues, happens over and over again..  

I lose you when i see a bike like yours..
When comes the favourite tv show of yours...

I lose you when i see your childhood pics...
Your proud uniform and your p.o.p. clicks...

I feel like holding you and kissing you...
Loose you every night i start missing you...

I lose you when i cook your favourite food...
I loose you with my deserted motherhood...  

I lose you when i wake up in the mornings...
I still clean and arrange all your belongings...

I lose you when any brave heart is killed...                                                        ­                     When the void in  someone’s life not filled...  

I lose you when i find the pen.. your toy...
Will keep you alive in my writing O my brave boy...

-A young martyr’s mother’s voice

Autistic Rainbow

Let me paint my walls in hues of red, blue and yellow,
Inscribing its matrix deep into my marrow,
To lift my soul above the waters of filthy processes,
Counting the complexity of its shades each morning.
In their domain they fumble daily to cope,
And insanely we at times laugh at their struggle,
When in reality it is our inability to understand,
These loving persons who bring innocent love.
Shame on me, as they paint my canvas in colours!
And I miss the opportunity to enjoy their unique joys.