kashmir, mi amor
i.
the sun rises over the valley and
bathes her in gold.
and we’ve cradled her in our very arms,
pinched thin stripes of sunlight out of white air
and fed her pure madness.
we’ve folded her edges and
pressed out the creases.
combed her greasy brown hair
and dressed her up for school.
and we’ve kissed her on the cheek,
lisped her name in quiet whispers-
jannat.
somewhere, a child is born
somewhere, an old bird dies
somewhere, the light fragrance
of tea and leftover wazwan erupts
in a small motel restaurant
and takes the valley by storm.
somewhere, the quiet peace shatters.
somewhere, a storm approaches.
ii.
and it was five in the morning
when she woke up to watch in silence
as the men in green walked on her-
wet, dewy grass crushed to paste
under blackheeled blackboots
trampled under sync-
leftright leftright leftright left
barbed-wire fences hung
like christmas lights in backyards.
somewhere, a child was born
somewhere, an old bird died,
somewhere, the stench of fresh blood
and burnt flesh wafted through the air.
her greasy brown hair was plucked off her scalp-
one strand at a time.
her oceanblue eyes were blinded
with rubber pellets,
the sound of metallic bullets rung through her ears,
and as all hell broke loose,
kashmir crumbled underneath.
iii.
father flinches a little as he
reads the news, then shakes his head
in dissappintment.
‘bloody musalman terrorists’
he whispers and sips cold cold tea
from a porcelain cup.
a thousand miles away,
a billion birds flock together
to scream of unexplicable injustice.
iv.
and kashmir was dragged on the streets
in the death of the night, mid-song
by her collar for the world to see-
naked. she wept under the apple trees-
(leftright leftright leftright left)
and kashmir was unfolded,
bit by bit, broken into swallowable pieces
for the world to devour.
somewhere, a child was killed
somehwhere, the fragile smell of death
erupted in a small motel restaurant
and took the valley by storm.
and now as we suckle on her teeth for words,
as we kneel on the ground beside her
the soil that holds the blood,
the soil that demands freedom,
she begs us for freedom
آزادی
and if freedom is what you want
then freedom is what you’ll get,
kashmir, mi amor.