‘The Partitioned Land (After TS Eliot)’: A poem to recollect Kashmir and Independence
August is the deadliest month, bringing
hatred out of the ancient land, mixing
partition memories and hope, stirring
passion with monsoon rains
Summer kept us sweating
inside our air-conditioned rooms
glued to the Internet and TV screens
Spring surprised us, coming over Kashmir
with melting snows, we stopped in the valley
and went to the Dal lake, then to Shalimar Bagh
and drank kahwa and talked for hours.
Agar Firdaus bar rōy-e zamin ast
hamin ast-o hamin ast-o hamin ast. [1]
When we were children, staying in Srinagar
at my friend’s home, he often took me out in Shikaras
and I was always delighted. He said –
let’s row on and we went on and on for hours
around the lake as free spirits.
At night, I read stories of saints and demons.
What are the bonds that bind us, what hopes grow
out of this wounded paradise? Son of Kashmir,
only you can say, for only you know
a heap of broken promises, (for what) your heart beats
and your dead, who walked into oblivion
into silence, only
their shadows flicker in your memories
(Let their shadows be honoured in our memories)
and let them show us the path ahead
their shadows at morning awakening us
their shadows at evening rising to lead us
and let them show us hope in a handful of dust
Nainam chindanti sastrani nainam dahati pavakah
Na cainam kledayanty apo na sosayati marutah. [2]
You gave me roses in August 1947
They called me Rose
yet when we