Up in the north, near the freezing borders
Parismita Goswami

The souls of Chinar and jhelum,
Pigeons and scavengers, flying above the blood and fenced wires.
Wrapped in the embroidered shawls,
O’ my dear, I hear you whistling and humming the songs of freedom.
The frozen lake and wooden bridge constantly remind me of the distance and closeness between us.
The silence around the curfew nights gives me the chills of summer.
I died with you, the day a bullet passed straight through your heart.
I die everyday alone, here in this grave once we called home.
Wrapped in the shawl you gifted me the night before..
Jhelum and Chinar are silently listening,
to my inner scream.

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