Waqas Khan
Dark was destiny that draped the day
Dark was my home, too dark was alley
In the heart of Pulwama, when two souls left
To blissful abode, from bodies of sacred clay
A young bride then was carried by brothers in crowd
In a palanquin of roses, in an adorned shroud
And the tearful mother whispered adieu and sighed
Blessed be my daughter! Valley verily is proud.
With every drop of oozed blood, oh dear!
You strengthened the hoarse sounds of freedom
And sprinkled the plant of struggle in galore
For in snowy dead earth, you brought spring blossom.
Alike other martyrs, you made gun-monster to fear
For you were angelic in soul with conscience clear
Killer tore the necklace of your dreams, I know
But let him live for years yearning for sleep now,
And let him long for death with poignant nightmare
Oppressor will end in vain, so will his gory game,
The game of tyranny that bleeds dream
But believe, we shall witness, oh daughter!
The dawn of Azaadi with your bridal gleam!
(The poet has studied Convergent Journalism at Central University of Kashmir.)
I truly have no words to express what i feel after reading this… For past two days i was waiting to read something that could tell me more about this girl, may be how exactly did she die, what really was in the head of those who shot her, what exactly are the true emotions of the people who knew her, how exactly her family must be feeling, how did her mother bid the last good bye to her that she must have been dreaming for years while imagining her in red bridal dress and instead she had to say the same good bye to her in a white shroud now stained red with her blood. And now its expressed so well, a story being told while no story is being told. Nice Job
Allah jannat mae aalah maqam aata farmiae