by Iqra Akhoon
Sitting In The Middle Of Khanqah
Listening To Awraadi Fatah
Having Sips Of Nun Chaai
Under The Folds Of Kashmiri Burqah
An Agonised Voice That Pricks My Soul
Every Log In Between The Bricks
Vibrate And Produce Blissful Echoes
I Crossed Wall After Wall
To See, Who It Could Be
And Under The Lashes Of Grey
With Amplified Hands On Suntoor
Esteemed Tibet Baqaal Was Relieving
Every String That Bore
Splendid Tunes Of Heaven
There I Saw No Crowd
No Hustle Bustle Around
Just The Birds Of Jamia
Pecking Rice And Corn
This Anguish Harshness In Winter
Has Left Every Eye To Gaze High
These Arid Eyes Ooze Now
Brittle Drops To Pacify This Gloom
Neighbours To It, Are Still Dead!
These Callous Souls Inside The Ruins
Are As Faithless As The Curse On These Knots
Knots, Which Were Tied With Faith Once
Amidst All This Aloy Of Gloom And Peace
She Unlocked The Ancient Window Of Her Ruin
And Yelled! It’s Curfew Outside
Let’s Die Inside
Let’s Die Inside
