poem, poetry

Ghosts of Freedom

I am not blind, no, I can see you
see you tear apart the scarf from her head,
I can see the bangles broken
Laying on the floor.
I can see your hand searching her,
her ripe bosom;
the lust in your eyes
is visible to me.
I can see the smile on your face,
full of disgusting pride you carry.

I can see, until I become one of those,
those hit with your pellets.
Those who can’t see!
And I will cease to see further.

But I will still be able to hear,
her screams,
the sound of the bangles falling upon the floor,
your laugh and furthermore,
the stories of my fellows;
seen with their eyes until every last
of them is hit with your pellets.

And when nobody is left
to hear or to see,
our ghosts will fight, for our
Aazadi*

*freedom

First published in WithKashmir.