Three Poems


Snow is falling
on my tortured ravine

shrouding its living
in the clothes of dead.

Dancing fairies
hugging the dead earth,

nestling the corpse
in their tender wings.

A shiny white blanket
spreads across the graveyard*

embraces underneath
seeds of revolution.

The seeds shall turn
into robust trees

when our streams are
full of winter tears.

*The graveyard in the poem refers to a martyr’s graveyard somewhere in Occupied Kashmir.


Tell me

Tell me
the doves have broken the cage
to reach the holy towers of peace.

Tell me
the trumpets of freedom are ready
to muffle the din of oppression and hate.

Tell me
our lungs will breathe the air,
free of bitter tear gas smoke.

Tell me
the downtrodden have risen to the skies,
and tyrants are begging for mercy and grace.

Tell me
the boys are out in the streets,
celebrating songs of freedom and love.

Tell me
I can roam fearlessly at night,
through the streets of my beloved land.

Tell me
my love
is no longer occupied

Tell me
autumn has died
and spring is coming soon.



In the heart of darkness
under the silver moon

the strength of a teenager
being crushed under jackboots.

His painful cries piercing
the dense clouds of silence.
Waai Khodayo moodus!


Originally published in Cafe Dissensus Everyday.

Categories Poetry

Aaqib Hyder is from Indian Occupied Kashmir. He studies media at the University of Kashmir. He can be reached at hyderspeaks at gmail

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