Poems of Nusrat Bazaz

July 2016

This July

The moon peeps into my room

And wonders

Why I toss and turn

In my soft bed

This July

The early sun cannot fathom

Why, paper in hand

My morning tea lies

Untouched

This July

The flowers in my garden

Nudge each other, as if to ask

Why I no longer linger

And drink in their fragrant beauty

This July

My little niece stares at me

Trying to comprehend

Why I tickle her no more

Nor join her splashing in the water

This July

I keep count of the dead

And mourn those

Whose days are darkened forever

Ask no more of me, ask no more...

•••

Joyless Rain

Yesterday

It rained

After months of scorching heat

But brought no joy

To the grief-stricken valley

It could not douse the fire raging on streets

Nor wash the blood splattered on walls

It could not cool the parched soul of a mother

Sobbing for her dead son

Nor soothe the blazing wound of a father

Nursing his blinded daughter

It could not entice little boys of four and five

To splash about and play

For this summer they learnt

To mould stones from wet clay

And lisp

Aazadi, Hai Haq Hamara

Aazadi...

•••

Another Blackout

No, no

It's my birthday

She weeps bitterly

Paying no heed I switch the lights off

Nani, she asks

Can't we have a golden-out

Instead of another black–out?

I look at her sadly

Wanting to tell her

There is no golden here

The only colours we know

Are Black and Red

I want to tell her

How it began

On another birthday

Her mother's first

More than two decades ago

The room

Brightly lit

Draped with coloured buntings

My daughter in dazzling white

Looked like a fairy

Their armoured vehicles

Patrolled narrow lanes

A car sped by

And then

A loud shot

We shrank in fear

All was black

And found next morning

A body slumped inside a car

All in red

Since then

This is Karbala

Where the red blood of innocents

Is mercilessly shed

Since then

It is Muharram

And the streets dress in black

To mourn the dead

It began that day

I want to tell her

But my mother

Her mother ‘s grandmother

Says it began before that

Long before that...

•••

Kashmir Calls

Conscience-keepers of this country

Your mighty nation

Is small, so small

It feeds on the suffering of the hapless

And drinks the blood of innocents

It calls itself the world's beacon

And takes away the light of children

Conscience-keepers of this country

Remind your people

Not so long ago

You were Jews to the English Nazis

Alas

Now I have become Palestine

And You, zealous Zionists

Conscience-keepers of this country

Ask your leaders

To look me in the eye

Look

Me in the eye

And Swear

You have not broken any promises

Conscience-keepers of this country

Become

Conscience-Keepers Of your Country.

•••

Fears of a Kashmiri Mother

What if

He opens the window

To peep at the street

Where men in uniform now keep guard

And a stray pellet pierces his body

What if

Answering an inner call

He rushes out on the streets

To join thousands chanting

Aazadi, Aazadi, Hai Haq Hamara Aazadi

And a soldier takes aim

What If

Our neighbor

Names him among the stone pelters

To settle old scores

And they come searching for him

In the dead of the night

And is never seen again

What If

He sneaks away in the curfew

To take a quick dip in the Dal

And his body

Is fished out after days

Decked

With small holes

What If

With leaden feet

I rush to the nearby hospital

After a firing on a crowd

And find him

In the catch of newly arrived bodies

Staring at me with sightless eyes

A smile frozen on his lips

What if …….

Dr Nusrat Bazaz is an Associate Professor, Department of English, Kashmir University.