kashmir

This for me was home, and for the visitors, Kashmir".

night has enveloped, to give me some reliefnow invisible are walls of separation, and thy griefwhere blood quenches the thirstdisloyalty is faith last and firstis the religion my beloved belongs toI beckoned, red and black robed lady with a wandlet me take her by the handheard of her about sorceryher powers useless, and witch now about to succumbfrom just a gaze of eyes filled with Kohl of Leilamy nights worthless, body breathlessevery moment, feeling restlessbe silent and hear, hear me, my criesdon't forget the promise you sworeI have lost my childhood over youdon't know, how these years left me alonesufferings, separation, theft me aloneI never knew how pain excrutiatessometimes, i enlivened you my dearLove is a blessing, and not a fearin a melancholy cloudy day, I mournglistening eyes, weeping sky, and heart tornI gaze from a window in KashmirFor a moment, condoling the tragedy, sighingIn sombre time, lifeless, as if dying

From the comfort of distance, [Non resident Indians and Kashmiris] financially and emotionally support ideologies whose consequence they don__ have to face. They are not just a nuisance. As a collective they are dangerous. When men capable of murder receive the affection of engineers and MBAs, it makes them potentially far more lethal.

Srinagar is a medieval city dying in a modern war. It is empty streets, locked shops, angry soldiers and boys with stones. It is several thousand military bunkers, four golf courses, and three book-shops. It is wily politicians repeating their lies about war and peace to television cameras and small crowds gathered by the promise of an elusive job or a daily fee of a few hundred rupees. It is stopping at sidewalks and traffic lights when the convoys of rulers and their patrons in armored cars, secured by machine guns, rumble on broken roads. It is staring back or looking away, resigned. Srinagar is never winning and never being defeated.

All they want is to point a finger.

My mother used to say, Preeto, there is never a right or a wrong side to a problem, but there can be to people. Not everyone here is on the right side, not everyone there is. You need to ask yourself, which side do you want to be on?

There were people dying everywhere getting massacred in every town and village, there were people being picked up and thrown into dark jails in unknown parts, there were dungeons in the city where hundreds of young men were kept in heavy chains and from where many never emerged alive, there were thousands who had disappeared leaving behind women with photographs and perennial waiting ,there were multitudes of dead bodies on the roads, in hospital beds, in fresh martyrs' graveyards and scattered casually on the snow of mindless borders.

For us Deewan Bhai, whatever it takes

What doesn__ belong to us, we have no right to call our own. One can__ win anything by force, ever. That is not what we, Kashmiris do. That is not what we, Indians do.

We live in a world today that lacks loving-kindness and compassion for our fellow man and woman. As Gandhi so eloquently stated, "Be the change that you wish to see in the world." We need to strive to be better, to be the image of selflessness. Love and give to those in need--expecting nothing in return. Give out of sincerity and from the depths of our hearts. Have compassion for every man, woman and child, no matter what ethnicity or background they come from. Love is blind. Love is unconditional. Love has the power to heal and redeem, and that is what Humanity should strive for.

N O T H I N GI would like to write one of those sophisticated stories in which even though nothing much happens there__ lots to write about. That can__ be done in Kashmir. It__ not sophisticated, what happens here. There__ too much blood for good literature.Q 1: Why is it not sophisticated?Q 2: What is the acceptable amount of blood for good literature?y

With each passing day, it became more and more convinced that the greatest threat to Kashmair's Freedom struggle is Hurriyatization

The Valley WeepsWeep softly o mother,the walls have ears you know...The streets are awash o mother!I cannot go searching for him any more.The streets are awash o motherwith blood and tears, pellets and screams.that silently remain locked in the air,while they lock us souless inside.The guns are out o mother,while our boys go armed with stones,I cannot go looking for him o mother,I have no courage to face what i will find.They fill the air o mother,The fragrance of plastic flowersI will place them beside your graveif i ever do survive,flowers that have no soul.and would never fade with time,The sun shines glorious o motherThe water sparkles so fineThe buds are closed in terrorand birds have gone silent with fearThere is poison in our heaven o motherI dread for what more is in store.They came for him o mother,yesterday as you slept inside,He went marching o motherwith all the others beside.I never told you o mother,I do not know if he would ever return.The streets are awash o mother!I cannot go searching for him any more.Weep softly o mother,the walls have ears you know...If your old blind eyes can see,You will want to see again no more.Our men have lost their spiritOur women have lost their smile,Our children have lost their laughter,The valley has lost its shine,Weep softly O motherFor, we still have our pride.17/07/2016

God has blessed the vale of Kashmir with grace and grandeur. It is a land of lush green meadows, crystal clear springs and lakes, the majestic rivers and streams, the snow white and roaring cataracts, sweet waters, high snow-covered peaks make it a perfect archetype of the promised land of God.