Oblivion

This oblivion. Sometimes it is good.
Many times, like now, it is killing
Like it were alive.
Stabbing and jeering at us. As if we have been enemies since centuries

 

Free of the Stabbing Pain

You know that fancy,
Having a broken glass in hand
Sharp, and striking it through the wrist
Over and over again!

Tearing everything in the path
The threads, the skin, veins
Gushing blood and moments of pain
Counting till the last

Visions of all the was
the knives that stabbed
cups, full of poison
and that helplessness…

And now free, free of everything
Free of all the stabbing pain

 

What Pinched Him?

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?

Reflection

Thoughts manifest into reality
the feeling you give out
comes back to thee

Numb, lost, immature
unable to comprehend
what world, emotions
This emptiness!

I sought answers; road to my destination
the burden of questions heaving onto me
attempts to shake off everything
friends with solitude; company!

What would reflect back, I wonder!
Emptiness? Numbness? The answers I seek?
A detailed map to my destiny?
Some moonbeams as company?

The dark veil of moonless nights
Untreatable sleeplessness
Shroud for all the misery

 

Tormentor

I sit with him, Ah! the pleasure
His eyes, the way he smiles
chiseled biceps!

He asks, I speak
The trauma at my heart
What is it that keeps poking me

I speak of red,
The spilled colour
The bundle of joy dead on a street

I speak of a bed
Devoid of rest
Haunted by nightmares

I speak of rooms;
Painful, brutal sounds
Electrocution

I speak, unaware
the words incoherent
the ache, constant….

My tormentor, moved to tears
I, unphased, numb
unaffected

Mine!

I see the Beloved
Joy
Indulgence

Somehow a name escapes
Someone on his mind
I turn mad

Ablaze,
How someone could adore his lips
Unbearable

I take a dagger
Confronting
Wound her through and through

A dull ache, I check
My wounds oozing blood
I kill myself

Call to Freedom!

FotorCreated-9I have seen dreams die
Youth crying, panicked
“I cannot see a thing
What happened to my eye”

I have seen sleep stab
Flashes, nightmares
Face in palms, crying
“Where did my peace go”

I have seen mournful weddings
No songs of joy being sung
Groom was shot on the way
“Where did his promise go”

I have heard kids wonder
“Everyone comes with parents
I go alone, with my mother
Where did my father go”

I have seen women
Half widows
Not even a grave to cry
“Where did my husband go”

I hear a mother lament
“He was all I had
Peace to my heart, light to my eyes
Where did my son go!”

I see a procession, a funeral
children mourning
I hear people sloganeering
“Azaadi, Azaadi, Azaadi, Azaadi!”

 

Blunder and Pain

They talked freedom
how they had had enough
Tyranny, Monarchy
sought an end

They start out, seeking
fighting their way through
somewhere religion creeps in
Blunder?

A line drawn on religion
supressing minority
threatening, depressing
Inhumanity?

Fleeing home,
protecting
bleak faith
Kashmiriyat stabbed?

Fear in eyes
Tears
Years going in vain
Exodus!

Along, people in procession
slogans booming
“Asi Gasi Pakistan,
Batav Ros Ti Batnev Saan!”

He is a Human Too!

tufail-mattoo3

Talking of home, peace
the beauty of my place
the calm,
Paradise

We somehow reach conflict
the tug-of-war
nobody ready to give in
the dilemma of rope!

I narrate how, every year
we lose sons to bullets
how, abruptly
our streets are painted red

How, out of blues
a pellet hits your eye
How, in an instant
the world turns black!

I explain the mass graves
AFSPA, PSA
Tufail, Zahid, Wamiq Farooq
their graves asking for crimes

Fake encounters, promotions
disappearances
Half-widows, orphans, posthumous
Machil!

Crackdowns, rapes, torture
Papa II, Mama II
Bullets, pellets
Teargas shells!

He asks, “Why are you silent
how can you bear someone
barging doors
killing beloved

Why don’t you retaliate
fight back
serve them as deserved
An eye for an eye!

How could talks help
why yearn for justice
why empty handed
missing rifle…

How could you just sit around
mumb over blood bath
does your blood not boil
Are you so weak at heart?”

How could I explain
I have closely seen pain, death
and when I kill
does his family not die like mine?

Everything is Fair in War!

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“Everything is fair in love and war”

Everyone is well aware of this statement. About how there is nothing defining right and wrong when you have an enemy and a goal to achieve. How no one cares about right when there is a war.

But is victory that important? Is it some epitome of forgiveness that once we achieve victory everything else would fade out? Would our atrocities clean out? Would the blood on our hands turn transparent?

And if so, then are our everyday struggles not war for us? A new battle, a new challenge everyday? Should this philosophy of everything being fair not be applicable there as well? If for being declared a university topper I need to cheat, why should that be deemed morally incorrect? Is this goal not a war for me? And does the society not itself justify the means used in a war?

War or peace does not matter. What matters is whether what we do is justified. Going out killing someone just for its sake is not fair. Having impunity and shooting people around to abuse the power is not fair. Whether it be a war or a conflict, nothing can be beyond a human. Nothing, no victory is more important than a human life. And yet it is the human life we value the least.

It might take a lifetime to put this thought into our politicians’ minds. What is the value of a piece of land without its inhabitants, its culture? And when occupation of land does not matter, why have borders? Why divide ourselves? What high does this wall of separation give us?

Why could we all not co-exist. Peace. Imagine the amount of money this would save us. The amount of work that could be done when the military finances are redirected. Why should there be any need for military and nuclear weapons. Why should we stand against each other?

Sometimes it seems easier being an animal. No set boundaries. No visas. No weapons. No gunshots or blasts. But we were created humans. Superior to every other species that ever existed. And yet we are the only species that stands against each other.

Is the pain of a lost son not same for mothers of warring nations?