My Paradise called Kashmir

Once this was a paradise

tulip riots

of sporadic hues…

Now ravaged,

fields lie crusted in blood,

feeding arrogance and vengeance,

the need to prove might,

extracting the pound of flesh and life,

putrid smell of death

hanging by the noose

of humanity’s desperate quest for freedom.

Pristine snow, now dotted red,

the cold of the winter has frozen this breath,

in time that stands still,

screaming and bearing the price

of senseless violence,

stealing souls and snatching sons,

even daughters.

Browse through history

trek through pages of this journey

of loss and pride

this situation of not belonging anywhere

came from you, from me,

from the need for freedom

that we already had.

© Sandhya Suri