Once, again.

Nineteen. Forty. Seven

Oh Mouj Kasheer know that I would sacrifice this cityscape a million times,
If it meant that I could breathe your blood stained soil,
And weep in your saffron fields, once again.

I would lay my head in my grandmothers lap,
If it meant that I could breathe the fragrance of her youth,
In a land where Muzaffarabad and Srinagar were one,
So my brother and I could meet in the middle
Like our ancestors, once again.

We could stand on both banks of the same river,
Raising the flag of azaadi in our land,
Underneath the solitary clouds still blessing our lands – with rain,
Because they too felt need to cry – like us, once again.

Oh Mouj Kasheer know that our hearts beat in synch with your valleys,
That echo in reply to our foreign tongues, every time we return,
As though we had never left, though…

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Author: gogwit

One foot in Sanity, the other in the adjoining parish, usually in the vicinity of the boundary between the two but sometimes straying into the main square of either and very occasionally taking occupation of the Town Hall...

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