Youth of Kashmir are ready to die.
The winds of death are never to leave us.
Cries are common in this land.
Shrouds are same in this land.
Creativity, foresightedness and imagination are of no worth
When graveyards are eagerly waiting for the buds.
Marriages, picnics and aesthetics are little felt
When our destiny is to die, why to yearn.
Books are never to be read
As we ourselves are books to read.
We frame our own laws
To fight against flaws.
In place of garments, we have white pieces of shrouds.
We construct houses that can accommodate crowds.
(The views of the author are his own) [email protected]
