In Memory of the Dead (A poem)

Now when you have left and they say your time had come
So what to grieve when you just danced a natural rhythm?
Why she has this picture of yours locked carefully in her drawer?
To nurture the pain like an eternal possession!
I must put it on a wall of my forlorn house so that she can kill you,
Looking at your sprouting whiskers and a faint smile in the morning
But your memories, still stalks and haunts her sleep like a street dog;
And remind her of those dreadful midnight knocks?
Everyday your mother stare at my silver coated bronze platter.
Does it remind her of you and your curious habit of eating?
Or does it remind her that day when you couldn’t even finish his meals?
Everyday I feel like I will throw it away down in Jhelum;
To get your memories forever washed out of her mind
But she never told me that it reminds her of you;
She just stares at it like a composed child;
Her eyes calm like the antique steeple of Jama Masjid.

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Author: pasdarekashmir

A PhD candidate of Politics and International Relations in School of Law and Government, Dublin City University. Research interests: national movements, nationalism, media, framing, and discourses. Regular column: Yours Satirically (Kindle Magazine)

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