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Furqan, 19, Kashmir – A Selection from The Do Write Campaign Chapter “Whispers from Kashmir”

Alone a bird weeps, on a fruitless tree, with his
head bowed sun crosses the horizon

The moisty graves, don’t seem to level , unaltered
shadows glimmer in the smoky air

Unwritten lines of hands hide the wailing mouth,
Again a prayer remained unanswered

The garden of corpses floats on a lake,
a boatman rows on the saffron water

Red bark of Chinar, nailed to slumber,
White fortress bleeds tonight

Thorny hands of friends water a
Sprouting enemy, in spring autumn blooms

Promised death by the angel of life,
Chaotic breeze combs time

At the shrieking doors, eyes wait to reflect ,the
Image of a son, of a cursed land

Eve of the grassy land, lawns a greenly carpet,
Winding a liberal soul, behind the hidden corners

Red flakes of snow cover a heavens road, in
this forest, a melody echoes again

Shallow waters of Jehlum, robed of past,
Drain the present, build a submerged path


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