Forgiveness

There is no forgiving,

When you murder the

Forgiveness.

On a cold November night,

We had gone to

Sleep early, fearing

A knock at our door,

You came like a hunter

Slowly and Stealthily.

You stole my poetry,

Had it been faith,

I would have thought.

Wars don’t break hearts,

Hearts break wars.

You have the war,

I have the heart 

And art, not to break.

War is a bargain to die,

Poetry-- the nerve to lie

On a fire and dream of

Age old fairies that

No longer visit us.

“The times are out of joint”

Heaven won’t guard us,

It bursts thundering bombs

In the womb of mother earth.

And then you—you came,

You stole my poetry,

Had it been faith,

I would have thought.

“I am not a story 

You weave through words

To write of a wearisome world.

I am a mad desire 

Pursuing my own pursuit.

Why would not I die?

In your pursuit but-

You stole my poetry

Had it been faith

I would have thought.

Forgiveness is a crime,

When your dreams are stolen

And sold like hot bread

In the early morning of Chellai Kallan

In Kashmir.

And you roll your eyes

Like a helpless dove

Shredded to pieces.

I am tired now of reading

The spiritless books.

Turning the pages I

Have been in search

Of a word

About

Myself.”

(Ashaq Hussain Parray)