dream, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Imagine, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

The Poet of Kashmir

Another day goes by
as my temple of verses rests desolated,
with her laments succinct.

this curfew of imagination,
keeps the pilgrims (of thoughts)
sobering behind closed doors.

The valley is being robbed
of its flowers and fervor.

We both are dying slowly
but not as we once dreamed.

In winter,
when it rains saffron
instead of snow.

fiction and poetry, Poems, Poetry, Writings

Tears of the Valley.(Kashmir)

A valley somewhere,
cries for the lost soul,
the soul wanders,
in the snow-capped mountains,
over the  beautiful lakes,
picks a colourful flower,
amidst the gunshots,
amidst the pain,
be it the freezing wind,
or the incessant rain,
he comes back,
seeing himself lie, bullet-ridden,
with no one to bury,
he keeps the flower,
and ponders,
Heaven was made for everyone,
for those who have love in the heart,
it’s the greed that made me die,
when I could have lived,
at the “Heaven on the Earth.”