Wednesday, 12 March 2014

The Kashmiri Pandit

Our father spoke.
His voice rambled incoherently like winter winds of Gulmarg,
But his deep blue eyes calmed me;
They always made me remember the summers at Dal.

Our father spoke.
He weighed every single word;
He was beaten today morning while collecting ration,
I have to share the rice with my brother for a week.

Our father spoke.
I think uncle is not coming anymore,
I remember he was right behind us till we crossed Kupwara;
Mother has been crying since...

Our father spoke.
In a tent on a Ramlila ground,
The grass has begun to frost with the night;
I wish for my blanket to not get drenched.

Our father spoke
"Someday we will go home son."
We never did.

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