Priya Malik
“I come of a collective community.
Who says blood is always thicker than water?
Of fragrant flowers and wading waterfalls.
Flowers faded and waterfall froze.
Elves in Pari Mahal do mourn.
The sky azure, with sporadic clouds of foam,
Has turned red with my blood.
Even red wine spilled will also have no such fiery color.
Ghalib: my son, I: his father, “a menace”.
Son, unspoken truth will soon be exploding reality.
My wife, I will always be with you.
With falling sun rays I will drown in your eyes.
Alas, you never knew I was to go today.
My cell, when I moved out, imprisoned banshee too.
All around was darkness like a wall.
Ask me how long a minute can be.
Ask me if a sound can freeze your blood.
Ask me how to tame a maelstrom within.
If you can’t ask me, ask Kashmir.
Their minutes: a day in a thousand years.
Their stones are louder than bullet cracks.
Their shrieks within have become volumes.
I stopped, they swarmed.
Family doesn’t end with blood.
Am I “extinct”?
No I continue to breathe in millions of Kashmiri souls.
In local shops, mobs and folklores.”
Poetess is currently studying English literature at University of Delhi.
