Have you heard
the leaves rustle
in the autumn,
when the fresh bout
of gun fire
deafens the night sky?
Swoosh, thud, dead.
Is that the call of Azrael?
Stray cattle, dead bodies
and pierced trees
is all that survives
in abandoned villages.
Death knows no borders
or boundaries.
It roams free between villages
like people did, six decades ago.
Visiting Ghulam Din’s house
near the old well
and then traveling to
Hari Singh’s fields
across the patch of
No-Man’s Land.
But, it is the other,
always the other-
the aggressor.
Between propaganda and peace talks
what is lost?
Only the railing on the roof,
the wall, a few houses
and some lives.
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