On The Hill Of Dead

409

By Mudasir Ahmed

I came across a tiny shoe and sock.
I had made with love for your dear feet,
I hug the frock across my chest.

And in imagination, ah, my sweet,
Once more I hush you to rest,
And once again I warm those little feet,
On the hill of dead, across the Kashmir.

Where do those grown young feet now stand?
In blood flooded trench of half numb to pain,
To some dread place that they may never gain.
On the hill of dead, across the Kashmir.
I saw you like a shadow on the sky
In the last light, a blur upon the sea,
Then the gale’s darkness put the shadow by,
And one grave talked to me;
(From) the hill of dead, across the Kashmir.

And, in the midnight, in the breaking storm,
I saw its blackness and a blinking light,
And thought, “So death has obscured your gentle form”

Now I know why the bumble bee is always in distraught
It flies on your grave over that hill in Kashmir…

Mudasir Ahmed is a student of Mass Communication and Journalism at University of Kashmir.

Thumbnail photo: Mukhtar Khan/AP


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