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.