Lull Not Peace

Lull Not Peace

It is in lull not in calm.

Its inhabitants are tongue-tied.

It is now the Valley of dead and gone.

It is the Valley of Kashmir, sieged by cruel occupiers.

Often in reverie, I recall, its lush green terrain.

Raucous streams and incredible fountains.

Bustling boulevard and crowded city centres.

Conventional houses and hectic lanes.

Narrow lanes and crazy roadblocks.

Sirens of vehicles, and the yells of conductors.

Once noisy, dusty but of full of life.

Now it is quiet, dumb and dead inside.

Its Kashmir dead and empty, filled with unkind soldiers.

I recall, the Dal waters, sparkling and bouncy.

Decorated with baby pink lotus and its broad leaves.

The mass of the tourists and sequinned Shikaras.

Bargaining on shawls, scarves and embroidered dresses.

The warmth of its hospitality, the smile of the people.

All is gone now as the Valley is deaf and dumb.

How cruel are occupiers and its biased media?

With demons face and demon acts.

Justifying occupation as an integral part.

They say there is calm in the Valley of dead.

They say there is concord when the voices are silenced.

O’ People, there is lull not calm.

Kashmir is throttled not in accord.

                                                       Sumera B. Reshi