I sit on my quarter’s
windowsill
reading Albert Camus,
waving my fingers in the air
called off by the plague.
Plague, a witch of devil’s skin,
came to Kashmir,
carrying a punch of venom,
like a vulture
leaving the earth devoid
of meaning, of life.
I sit gazing
at my neighbour’s house
entrance:
no, they won’t let their son
out
we’d spend days
playing volley ball
in our backyard
I keep my promise, I’ll
come to play as defender
from your side, he shouts loud
from the roof
of wounded, old quarter, once
the roads bark again
and emaciate the fear
of nearness of birds.
I sit peeling
off my heart –
reduced to a dot
of flesh
by the music of
departures:
no, they won’t let
us open our eyes.
For the autumn flips through the dreams
of sparrows, and won’t let them feel
these spring
encompassing trees.
The poet is a college student based in Badgoam.
