Listen my dear clearly,
We can't say truly.
We can see every where,
But can't, speak there.
We are punished badly,
We are considered criminally.
Listen my dear clearly,
That we are not actually.
Poors have only world,
In the jail or graveyard.
Kashmir is hell not heaven,
It is the gift of forty seven.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very impressive and insightful poem. Thanks