An Oppressed Valley-I Poem by Wani Rahil

An Antique state, dying in a modern war,
Kashmir is a blood laden valley.
Beyond one's writings, imaginations,
Those agonised tortures settle.
Like stars in the sky,
Uncountable, unimaginable, brutal.
Empty streets and military bunkers,
O tyrants! O tormenters! Quit our kashmir.
Behold! The jhelum flows red,
Through the village of 'kunanpushpora',
Through shopian, the land of asiya and neelofar,
And beneath the Gawkadal Bridge,
Where hundreds were massacred by surly black troops.
It flows red through nameless graveyards,
Where Mothers wail for their sons.
Oh! I cry for the 14 yr olds, for the infants,
How could the sullen, stone hearted trooper,
Pierce through their innocent bodies?
Remember, they're alive in silences around.
My land has a story of suppression,
With faces of murdered boys,
And those of grieving fathers.
My People breathe death and fear,
Only graveyard breezes blow in our land.
Murder tours every moment, everywhere,
Garbed in uniform of indian army.
Here the beauty of springs, summers and whity winters,
Pass unnoticed, through painful, indigent, teary eyes.
This Land of Noor-ud-din Rishi,
That of our beloved, Shah-e-Hamdan,
Screams hard and reveals,
There isn't any paradise on earth,
It's not here! It's not here! It's not here! .