I had looked forward to a dream. Something I was so in love with. I yearned, I waited everyday. Yet when I had it, it was all in pieces, broken apart.
And then, when I least expected, I had hope. Smiling at me and saying, “here here, I am with you.”
Even when nothing made sense, I know soon it all will.
After the talk; prospects of loss,
death, and grief
Of life without
I sit in a garden
Looking for a four-leaf clover;
calming my storms
You stirred inside
It is raining. I am warm and cosy in my bed. A cup of coffee and some books add to the pleasure. And I guess everyone using Facebook now is equally cosy and at ease.
But some people aren’t. Some people are being thrown out or beaten just because of their identity. And the fact that something happened in their area, in their they had no say whatsoever.
Even they aren’t the reason for my post this time. The reason is the constant revenge posts in my feed. My six years of NCR gave me a lot of friends who proudly call themselves Indian. I am glad to have them. But after the Pulwama attack everyone, almost everyone is posting solitary with the soldiers and how they want revenge. From Pakistan and from Kashmir.
The 45 soldiers who lost their lives might not have deserved this. But did anyone step back for a moment to consider why a 20 year old youth would want to blow himself up? He wasn’t raised in the so called Afghanistan and told killing people will bring him to Jannah. He was raised in a village in Kashmir where I am pretty sure he was told, and it was emphasised that suicide is one of the gravest sins. That once committed, the doors of jannah are shut for him. That this suicide results in eternal hell.
Then why? Why would a person having his life ahead of him take such a step?
Why wouldn’t he consider the fate of his family after he is gone? Didn’t he know how families of militants are treated? Didn’t he know that even if PM wouldn’t say anything, army would avenge itself? Would at the minimum burn his house down. Beat all the Male members up and harass them at every opportunity? In a fit of rage, his mother and sister could be raped?
Or was it because he had had so much of this pain and trauma that he couldn’t hold back?
After all, does it not need immense strength on part of a person to just blow himself up? How many of us can survive that thought without tearing up? How many of us can could the time, the seconds till our death? And then cause our own death too? How many?
Or was it that he was already so dead inside that no heaven or hell mattered to him anymore? That he had seen enough to blow up not just himself but 40 other people too?
If he was so traumatised didn’t he know the families of these people would be in pain too? What had happened that rendered him numb to everyone’s pain? Tears?
Did anyone think, or ask for his story before asking for revenge? Did anyone even care to seek out the wounds inflicted on him? The reason that he drove to his own death?
The last time you said goodbye and I said alright, remember that time?
The last time we saw in each other’s eyes, let those words be, and left. Remember that silence?
The last time we could have held each other and didn’t? The support we could have been and didn’t? Remember that time?
Now, I see you grieving. Wailing. Lamenting the loss you suffered. The Trauma.
But I wanna ask, “Did I not matter when I existed? When I was there? Why did you take me so for granted then?”
Now that I shed my mortal skin and am leaving for chasm, why do you call my name? Chasing a ghost? Shouting out regrets?
Would the words not work if I heard them when alive? What fun now? The purpose of this regret?
Ek shaam ke sarhane pe
Ek khwahish rakh kar bhool gayee
Thandi si ek shaam ka aalam
Ek tum, ek mai, ek tanhayee
I sit on the window sill
Observing his features-
He lies down
Tired of the world
“O! To be free”
He speaks pain;
Of glass walls
Dreams right in sight
He seeks redemption
A way beyond chains
A bird in cage
He jumps in fire
Now, he lay writhing
Crying in pain
“Let me out,
It drives me crazy
How do I escape”
I watch him over and over
I indulge in his pain