Heaven On Earth.

I sing a song to the gurgling of the stream flowing past my house

accompanied by a chorus of koel calls and gunshots alike

I see no difference;

because it's all the same now...

Nowadays instead of the morning azaan

I see smoke drifting out of the neighborhood mosque

yellowing the marble walls

obscuring the view from my window

so that I have to look hard to spot the sun rising everyday

Only a few dozen flowers remain in our garden

the rest have either died or been trampled upon.

On my way home, I accidentally step on a landmine

and shrapnel pierces my body

crippling me like it has crippled my people;

my parents and my siblings too...

Blood mars the exterior of my house

staining pristine white with dark red

I remember not whether it is the remnants of last week's Eid;

or last week's shoot-out

I sing a song to the dawn prayers

prayers that give me courage; coming from that temple

standing like a silent sentinel on the hill beyond

I fill in verses and words of my own; a plea for deliverance

freedom from this cursed land

where corpses and shikaras floating on the waters of the Dal

all look the same to me...