Where are you?


By Mohammad Tabish

Once again night falls
I haven’t slept for decades
Don’t call it a nightmare
I am already dead

The stones I throw used to be my home once
This hunger is no humor
I have taken abode amidst yellow stones
My voice froze trying to reach you

No archangel fell to witness the holy in me
I am no son of Abraham
I am nothing but a slaughtered sheep
This ought to be a sin

I have no name
Am I a bleeding prisoner beyond the interrogation gates
Or a withered odorless flower?
I am no more the clown in Shalimar

A newspaper blotted with the blood of martyrs
How can I forget your cheerful face?
I am so alone your absence haunts me
Where are you now?

The air is fresh with the smell of raw rubies falling from my scars
of deceit drawn by those keepers of the peace
No one else is left to cherish these wounds
From tyranny raw cuts lighten up

I can’t bear to see your mother in an unending wait
Never letting her eyes away from the door
Calling each visitor by your name
Habba-Khatoon wailing her solitude at the Moon

The Kashmir Walla needs you, urgently. Only you can do it.

We have always come to you for help: The Kashmir Walla is battling at multiple fronts — and if you don’t act now, it would be too late. 2020 was a year like no other and we walked into it already battered. The freedom of the press in Kashmir was touching new lows as the entire population was gradually coming out of one of the longest communication blackouts in the world.

We are not a big organization. A few thousand rupees from each one of you would make a huge difference.

The Kashmir Walla plans to extensively and honestly cover — break, report, and analyze — everything that matters to you. You can help us.

Choose a plan as per your location