Poetry and photographs for Kashmir: Is this or is this the dream I came home to?

Posted: July 22, 2016 in Armed Forces Special Power Act, Conflict and Peace, Draconian Laws, Human Rights, Uncategorized

Verses and images that mourn the violence.

Poetry and photographs for Kashmir: Is this or is this the dream I came home to?
Image credit:  Amit Mehra

1
uncaged
this long ailing night
left to die
like an aging raven
unused
to flying failing
its wings
mortified
this cagelessness
humiliating

2
smothered
flame of candle
crushed
between thumb
and forefinger
charred night

3
burst into flame
solitary flower immolate
your petals detonating
like suicide vests
making pale
the glitter
of the stars the sky
shredded raining fire
scorching an earth
already weary
of its own blood
take it back
the night

4
shatter stillness
the night
on crutches
the sun
shrouded
in a cloak of night
refusing
point blank
to rise

6
bird stripped
of sight
seeking
refuge
in a sky
full
of bullet wounds

7
burnt
stumps
gather
the ashes scatter
the ashes
into the wind

8
breaking
the silence
death’s soft whisper


9
ash coloured
the cobblestones

10
above my head
smoke from
a distant dream
a sky
in flames

11
voiceless scream
as leaves drop
from trees
one
by one

12
stitched from clouds
soaked
in red
the sky
reluctant shroud

13
smeared grey
across the sky
its ash visage
darkened
by the death
of the sun

14
is this
or is this
the dream
I came home to?

dogs sniffing blood
on chinar leaves

15
watermelon heads
explode
every single day

16
elsewhere
in tiny heaps
discarded
ash
shrouds
in mourning

17
crumpled
sheet of light
in a room made vacant
made lonely made fiction
by what else
death
dappled shadow
white black white white
blurry motion windswept
ricochet across room
slamming headfirst
into the wall
also white
crumpling
into a shivering
daze on spinning floor
with a bang and
a crash
breath panting
for breath breathlessly
swallowing
gasping air gasping
for breath out of breath
eyes wide rolling over and
over before closing shutting
down clanging
like shutters ungreased
metal rusted with years
the light no longer white yellow
age yellow with age
hinges squeaking
for oil remembering
gaze fixed
on unseen further point
in the fog dense
remember leaves
losing sheen
at the moment of their passing
falling falling sheet floating
down
light as light weightless
almost
crumpled shadow of light
in room emptied
of thought
all of it

18
in a fragile landscape
ash coloured
leaves
seeking refuge
from the fire

19
shiver death
in the cold
cold
light of the sun

20
streets
full of rage
stones
grappling with fists
willing
to bleed

21
their eyes shut tight
dead men learning
to dream

22
the children cycle madly
homewards
under a sky hurling
hailstones

23
charred
flame
of the candle
a dream in ashes

24
mirror
vast and silent
the oars precise
slice
its stillness
a different rhythm
that of gunfire
intermittent
echoes
ringing
ringing
in ears
made deaf
by a silence
intimate
with roadside graves

25
burnt
blackened forever
the night

26
all night long
the smell
of tyres
burning

27
forest
full of tree trunks
gutted

28
at sunrise
the women
hurrying
to bury the night

29
stab each hand
one by one

smash the clocks
underfoot
one by
one

30
across
a landscape of green
the fresh
fresh smell
of blood
spilling

31
crushed underfoot
leaves
daring to breathe

32
from the corner of my eye
a blur of grey

leaking fugitive

33
stripped
made naked
the bitterness
of shadows

34
scattered
beneath the stones
reams
and reams
of poetry

35
they bury shadows
here
every night
under a moon
known for its brazenness

36
widowed sky
lamenting
its own drowning

37
giant sieve
soaked
in its own blood
the sky
riddled

38
the keening of widows
muffled by the shadows

39
on some days
on most days
all that remains
is for the night to end

40
yesterday’s words
like stale bread
posing as poetry

41
the blood-coloured flowers
continue
to bloom

42
the women silent
stones
watching refusing
to shroud their heads
shroud
their heads

43
a sky
unable
to shrug off
its greyness

44
there where
the shadows
huddle
in quiet whispers
the restlessness of
trees

45
elsewhere
the sound
of bare feet
running

46
anointed in their own blood
the shadows refusing
to weep

47
slice the vein
and let the poem bleed
all over the white
all over

48
bloodied fists
smash the night

49
cold wet street
stones
strewn under
a flickering lamplight
like freshly plucked flowers

50
low rumble
deep tumbril
from well of throat
the cry rising
thick like smoke
choking
on its own fire
burn
burn the devastated land
strewn with stumps
charred
as mighty trees
one by one by
one fall prey
to what?
what? was it
that caused this
blindness
blind blind
rage blinded
thought
suspended
impossible then
to extinguish
flames
sparked by
shadows
full
of faces trapped
in rooms full
of shadows
staring staring
blankly
at reflections
of flames
ricocheting off the walls
before collapsing
into a heap
of ash rotten
rotting from within
their hearts
so full
so full of anger
white
drained of blood
the landscape
waiting for winter
and snow

51
rage
into the night
solitary shadow
hide
hide your shame

52
strangling silence
the night
sandpapers
its leaves
singing hoarse
its songs out of tune
broken voiced
wrangling
like bent reeds underwater
snarled in discord
the distant sighing
of the flute wind
whispering rustling
in harmony
faint
soft
shrill piercing
the sound of a car horn
persistent
loud lament
strangling
silence

53
Assisted by hands gripped
firmly around its neck. Pushing
down. Splashing wildly.
The darkness
drowned
once and for all
into the pool of light.

Poems by Naveen Kishore, photographs by Amit Mehra.

Courtesy: Scroll.in

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s