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I wonder If the sky turned red

this evening, in Kashmir

When people sat alone

in their thoughts

tears in their eyes

listening to the muezzin

whose calls seemed far away

I wonder if the silence of night is

broken only by sighs, in Kashmir

phones ringing with rumors

as others sit, long way away

rum addled, staring 

at empty glasses as

the night is cut in half

by the marching soldiers boots

I wonder If the ink refuses to 

stain the paper, in Kashmir

each drop blotting into

its own darkness

The scribes scratch late

into the night

pouring their blood 

on the papers

when the ink refuses to write

I wonder if Mothers staring out 

of windows now, in Kashmir

staring, whispering 

like a chant, 'one day 

it can be him, one day

it can be him'

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