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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