There are empty picture frames Hanging on walls of empty rooms in Kashmir, Wisps of memories haunting Desolate mothers and grieving wives, Fatherless children crying into a merciless night Blue gypsies patrolling the Desolate lanes of our memories, while we clutch on tatters of our forgotten dreams. half defeated by bayonets glistening in scarlet shadows There are fading eyes that Are fixed on wooden doors, From where - a long time ago - Hope was snatched, screaming As it was dragged into the darkness Of torture chambers that were once Palaces built by others like you There was a madness that We hid under our nails, Till you ripped them off one-by-one, smiling as you Asked us to love you, while Slowly pouring acid down our Throats