The tree of liberty,
Blossoms of saffron—
Roots clawing at the fractured earth,
Blossoms tremble in the wind of fear,
Falling like tears beneath,
Leaving the land haunted with grief.
Marks of a broken past—
The place where I left
My Kashmiri Kani-shawl,
Now draped in dust and blood,
The fabric of a lost dream.
MyKoul
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem