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Tag: #KashmirLockdown

Excess Demands (or Why Such a Shortage of Justice)

Do not call us terrorists
for protesting bad laws,
or jail us for laughing 
at gods or Amit Shah.

Let us love those we love;
don’t tell us how to pray;
and when we do equal work,
give us equal pay.

In jail, grant us straws,
if we tremble when we drink—
warm blankets when it’s cold,
and books so we can think.

Do not molest us or beat us
(in jail or in undisclosed locations
before you take us to jail.)

Do not torture us in any way:
no broken bones or bruises,
no solitary confinement;
we need space and time to sleep,
water and soap to wash.

Tell our families where we are.

Do not take us in the night
to a field or flyover,
and then shoot us before our trial.

Do not shoot us in broad daylight
and then call us terrorists.
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Only Together Can We Bring It

-one year after the abrogation

A year ago, a plague was delivered 
upon a far-off northern region,

and many of us in the capital 
understood this, but did nothing—

because we were afraid 
and felt powerless,

or because we told ourselves 
that twitter or the courts would cure it.

Last night, I watched a storm
flash in the southwest sky—

the ebb and glow of distant light,
just the hint of a cool, clean breeze—

and I wished and prayed
it would bring us relief

from all of this season’s 
sickness and heat. 

But friends, none of my lonely 
wishes and prayers

were enough to summon  
the storm’s healing air.
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Late Last Night

We slept on my grandmother’s porch,
how we got there, who can say?

Dogs approached, snarling and circling;
I cried out, and you held me close.

Later, came sounds from the road,
a grinding of gravel and boots;

you said it was Amit Shah’s man:
he stunk of whiskey and malice.

He said he’d be back in the morning,
whether or not I was pregnant

as he left, the wind changed direction
and brought back the scent of still water.
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A Map of Our Love and a Promise

Somewhere today, 
a baby conceived on the eve 
of the abrogation will be born;

just think of all the hatred, hunger, 
violence and courage we’ve seen 
in the past 38 long weeks—

what stories will we tell this child 
when she’s old enough to hear them?
Yes, her mother carried her 

through dark times, and she 
was born into darker times, still.
But the late April breeze 

was cool that night,
and though the May sun
would be unforgiving,

we promised to fan her,
to love and to stand with
her and her siblings,

and cousins and classmates—
and all of her friends
and all of her neighbors—

and all of the people 
in the land she called home,  
and all of the people beyond it.
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Abrogated

Changing the rules without consent: the true aim of development?
Political gain or property grab, in the name of development?

Lock up the kids before they hurl stones in protest or anger.
Preventive detention: just a move in this game of development?

Jail the leaders, shutter the press: speech and sight are dangerous—
lead pellets rip through retinas and fan flames of ‘development’.

Markets are closed and, friends, I’ve heard, freedom is now an outlawed word;
do dreams deferred wilt or explode in the shame of development?

Healing old wounds takes time and care; tear gas obscures the things we share—
brothers and sisters, please beware of false claims of development.

You say, Hamraaz, you’re so naive; it’s more complex than you perceive!
But we won’t right wrongs by hanging them in warped frames of development.

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