Wish I were a barbed wire,
Waiting to be cut open
And be trampled upon, rolled and shelved.
Never to be used again.
Wish I were a lock
Waiting to be broken, not opened.
Broken to render me unusable forever.
The lock that cuffs innocents and imprisons the oppressed.
Wish I were nothing but a stone,
Rapt in my own madness.
Sometimes lying loose on the hot half-molten tarmac,
sometimes firm in my determination in a protestors hand.
Carrying millions of hopes and dreams of freedom.
Piercing the oppressors’ shields of falsehood
Hitting his armoured vehicles with a thud,
waiting to be returned back to the protestor,
and thrown again
a million more dreams with me.
Wish I were the flag.
Burnt down, torched,
I wouldn’t mind,
for I’d be the witness
To resilient and joyous crowds
My fabric receiving the beatings of justice,
Green- the colour of freedom which I denied.
Saffron- the blood of the innocent
And white, the surrender I want to do before their zeal and valour, for I could hardly repay what my people have done.
The beatings of justice, the fire,
I would humbly oblige.
Disappearing in thin Kashmir spring air,
Kissing the earth beneath a mother’s feet – who lost her son.
- Share this poem with your friends.
- Send your contributions to email@example.com to get featured.
- Leave your feedback in the comments below.