You whispered truths. Your songs floated down the valley to Amherst,Echoed in Manhattan. The streets followed you like incense.You who could not go home, hear now, “It is here. It is here.”

Kashmir your bangles are broken

The children are in plastic bags clear as grapes plucked from the vine.
Are they mine? Did you write your poems with ink clear as plastic
Or tears. Shall we mourn in rhyme? Refrain. Refrain. Refrain. Refrain.

Kashmir your borders are open

Build a church within a mosque within a temple within a heart within a poem,
You found your home. Is it mine? To whom shall we leave our lines instead
of LOCs? Whom shall we bribe for air? The children are harvested in our time.

Kashmir your lines are on our palm

You never named the enemy or the Beloved. You knew the nameless horror.
To whom will you post your letters now? To whom shall we be faithful?
You’ve crossed the river. Kashmir is upon us as rain. We are stained.

Kashmir your heart has no borders