By Imtiyaz Pandow
Reeling
Under the darkness
Of this ruthless occupation
I am Kashmir
Striving to see the dawn of life
Amid
The hopes
Entangled in concertina wires.
I am like a pet parrot
Caged in my castle
Compelled to praise
My capturer.
I am the dweller
Of a new era
Pushed towards the stone age
I am Kashmir
My identity is rage.
I am a book, unread yet
My pages are inked red
I am black, I am dead
I am a deaf, I am yed.
My blank pages
Speak volumes
Of my past, present and future
I am a diary
Not maintained yet
I wonder, still why?
My pages are inked red.
I am a Magazine
A newspaper and a journal
Serving the haunting tales
My stories are unusual
Be it headlines or masthead
My pages are inked red.
I am a canvas
Sketched with pieces of art
Letting the artist’s brush vent
My pages are inked red.
First published in Indian Periodical, received from poet to publish on ILA blog
![](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/0d4306_38f3d2c6576b4004994f6ccfec042e41~mv2.jpg/v1/fill/w_147,h_68,al_c,q_80,usm_0.66_1.00_0.01,blur_2,enc_auto/0d4306_38f3d2c6576b4004994f6ccfec042e41~mv2.jpg)
Image of Poet, Imtiyaz Pandow, Web Content Editor of ILA Magazine.