Untold Miseries Of My Land

By: R' Cayed

All alone I walk to search peace and prosperity,

And I feel like from past two decades I’ve lost me,

In the bullet-shells and smoke gases that roam through my street,

And somewhere a gunman has another to meet,

This is the battleground of a fight of greed,

We have never been asked what we need,

From childhood I’ve nothing to see but blood,

I walk by the roadside to save myself from this flood,

Nothing but the unmarked graves screaming for attention,

Of justice that keeps delaying in their own destroyed nation,

In my own dreams, each night I wake up and weep,

From the end of 1980’s I’ve lost my sleep,

Whenever I be in candle-light, remembering the past,

I feel like the Kashmiri inside me will ever last.

I live within cries and funerals everyday,

Live within the people, who can’t even say,

Can’t even pen down their wishes and pains,

Can’t even wash-out the blood-stains,

I’ve a habit to get my lunch box checked before school,

Been taught about geniuses when I myself am a fool,

Even my hands are open in the prison but I-Can’t break my rule of never speaking a lie,

Whenever I feel like happy, I go to graveyard,

And stare at the graves, which were dug by the fraud,

I ask myself what for I’m given birth,

And feel like my own life isn’t worth.

Whenever I walk, I need to prove my identity,

When they beat me like an animal, nobody even pays pity,

I learn the scolds when I was bound to fun,

Before holding a pen,

they show me the weight of gun,

As I walk after dark,

they shot me and state it self-defense,

I fall on the road; A schoolboy holding his pens,

How can they call an innocent a terrorist?

When even to hold the sand,

we lack the strength of fist,

Each night I’ve a war to fight,

From years I’ve forgotten the pleasure of night,

I never rested for everyday I’ve to shoulder,

Someone whom they again call a victim of self-defense.

Now don’t ask me why I took up a stone,

I’ve to pelt it for my brother,

now I got a chance to mourn,

I’ve no fear of death; this life’s a curse,

At the end of every day my wound is getting worse,

I throw it at them, without fear and sight,

May be this stone would end my plight,

I stand in front of your gun; it’s time you shoot me,

Remember! I would be dead but still you won’t get the key,

That unlocks the door of paradise on earth,

My sacrifice for my land makes me feel worth,

This is the land of saints and it’s just ours,

This the land for which our forebears kept vigil for endless hours,

Remember O! Tyrant, this is my land,

It would always be mine, sooner shall you understand.