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All calls ,from and to, Kashmir are monitored for "quality purposes"

Hello!

Hello! Hello!

I have called out for you

So many times, on my empty phone lines

You trespasser on my conversations

You holder of my secrets

You unwilling, unwitting witness to my destruction

Tell them all,

what I said,

when I cried

And how I screamed into the void

You professional sabteour,

You secret nazi swine,

You precious pervert

Tell them all,

Leak out my secrets, my inner fears

And my weak attempts at humour

Hello!!! Hello!!!

Do not pretend you do not hear me,

You who archives my life,

You who measures my conversations,

You who polices my twitter

Do not be an false god, unhearing, unsympathetic, unbiased

You who chronicles my misery in kafkaesque detail,

You who stoically stabs paper with my name written all over it

Release all my conversations,

Torture my rage,

Dismiss my existence

Hello!

Hello! Hello!

I have called out for you

So many times,

On my empty phone lines

Hello!

Comments

In Barely Discernible Darkness

I will trace the Jhelum Across Your back with my fingers In barely discernible darkness It will form a paisley Drawn from the memory of An imagined Kashmir No language spoken by Man or Gods shall be Uttered that night Words will be melded, Sentences molded to form A new language of love The ink, a fine powdered Amethyst, shall dry as We write its grammar The quill tips, fashioned From old bones, shall Burn in its blaze The room will be Full of scorch marks In barely discernible darkness -- Tz

Surviving Kashmir

In Kashmir Tragedy doesn't strike you, It seeps inside you, like a malignant disease Slowly making its way to your brain, Disintegrating your mental faculties, one by one. Taking you apart one minute at a time, making happiness A sepia picture that grandfather Put up on the wall of the ancestral house, That is now just a road, with every passing car Raising dust over your family tree, the room where You once crawled, teeming with unruly pedestrians, Grounding your memories to mere dust, walking by an invisible house with blue windows and tin sheeted gate. In Kashmir, tragedy doesn't seek you, it survives you.

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.

Tasenda

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