By Zubair Nazeer
Don’t be so silent, interpreter of silence;
My words hardly make any sense;
Little do they please any human heart;
Give life to my silence through your art.
The walls of hatred have been built here;
We can’t see each other, though so near.
Tell my neighbour, there is love and care,
And when he is not around, there is some fear.
Blood has place in veins not in these lanes,
Shed enough, but never would it evaporate pains.
Tell my priest, man is a creation of Lord,
And there are a thousand ways to please God.
Capturing power would never fulfil your need;
Money can never quench thirst and greed.
Tell my leader, one day he has to leave this crown,
And nudity is better than a ‘stolen’ gown.
We learnt together that our land is pious;
Our soul is one that’s enlightened and virtuous.
Tell my friend, my fellow Kashmiri, we hope,
These ‘assimilation’ charms and spells you cope.
What is the meaning of this silence?
That has dawned upon us through violence.
Tell me, how to burst this cloud of silence?
Don’t be so silent, O interpreter of silence!
(A Junior Research Fellow in the Department of Political Science, Jamia Millia Islamia, New Delhi, Zubair Nazeer has also taught in the Department.)
