Last Night, I dreamt I was back home

Last Night, I dreamt I was back home,
In Kashmir.
I have’nt been able to sleep since.
With each passing day, each passing hour,
Kashmir seems to be fading into a distant memory.
Its reality of death and despair,
is slowly being replaced
By calendar photographs of sunsets over Dal lake.
The march of army boots is being replaced
by the pitter patter of rain on the roof my house, my home,
My Kashmir
Something deep inside me is changing,
a part of me is dying,
you know like that old withering flower on the windowsill
which you forgot to water.
There is strange stench in my memories, tonight
Like someone died and I forgot to bury him.
There is blood on my hands,
Did I Murder someone in my dream tonight,
Or did I simply commit suicide, Last night
Something burns in my heart tonight,
But It’s not fire,
Just smoldering remains of my dream,
Of my Kashmir.
All that remains are ashes and questions,
Dead men and women ask me,
When you cry in your dreams,
Do tears escape your eyes ?
Hollowed out faces and empty eyes
Are all that remain of that Half forgotten dream.
Last Night, I dreamt I was back home,
In Kashmir.

Comments

Unknown said…

Finallllllly finallllly....something that touches mere mortals like me ...nice one bro

May 9, 2011 at 4:31 PM

Muzamil said…

Articulate, touching and rare, nice one Tasim. If you studied at AS college in Srinagar, do get in touch at virkulatgmail.com. Haven't heard from you in ages. Thanks.

December 24, 2011 at 9:46 AM

The Empty Apartment

I draw a deep breath, An empty chair sits in the corner Hastily scribbled notes scattered Around the desk, abandoned Like lilacs in battle filed Wandering eyes rest among the Clumped clothes, a black sequined Scarf pokes pathetically from Among the ruins of our lives, Staring at me, accusing me A half-eaten apple still Sits on the top the fridge, next To the owl totems from the time We visited the dead shaman, You used believe in -- The movers are here, Walking up the narrow stairs Stomping feet leaving shoe marks, You so hate, across the Floor, Our floor The empty boxes laid in front of me Forcing decisions I never wanted To make, what to keep and what To ditch, how much luggage to leave For the insidious new occupants -- Tz

Some Other Time

We will be counting days again, till we say hello again— only for us to say goodbye again. We always knew we’d have to say our goodbyes one day. Then why does it hurt so? Even so, when we know it won’t be long before even goodbyes are a luxury. We cling to hopes— that this isn’t the only life we will live. That one day, we will meet again, in some other life, in some other time, where we won’t have to say G oodbye.

Zulaikha’s Lament

Blotted and Stained Like blood on apples, My reputation remains in tatters After these years But what was a woman to do? -- He had the face of An angel His shoulders, A sculptors dream His eyes, spoke a million languages his lips, like daggers driven apart -- I grew outside of Cairo Unloving father and sad mother Sold me for a goat and A bag of gold To the first merchant who They came across -- My Husband, Kind, Generous man Made me his wife And put me along with Thirteen others -- My Husband, Kind Generous man Kept me happy Visited me twice a month Blessing me with His drunken kisses and Impotent rage -- I was never sad What more could A woman want? Lots of wealth and An impotent husband Sex was a chore The price of being so glad -- Then he came Chained and covered with dust Another man from the Slave traders den He stood at the gate Neither sad nor in jest Even at a distance...

Tasenda

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