Mercy Crazy

I cry in front of the solace to reduce the pain

Those to rip off my pieces of broken heart

For which no life has to scream for gain

Aim at me and dazzle in by a dart.


That black dot has nothing to please

Just go easy on this crowd for my part

I drive myself crazy all night now I am on my knees.


Prepare for the light I gonna sacrifice

Drums create a havoc and beats take the down thunder

I have lived catastrophe for which I died twice

Will this body ever find peace ! I wonder.


My piece sings a sad lullaby for I have no power

Show me an open door for which I have no one to believe

Leap of faith calls for a jump of ultimate trust from a tower

Life is no magic and by the end humans are just way too naive.



Every day zest

When everything is long lasting, everyone of us loose the sigma of how we are build, with no specificity for the verve. When the sound of next night of elation has  pushed everyone to ground i stand in pain , i stand strong.

“The wind is full of fire and the stage is too crowded

When the rain dazzles the sky and where every pain is clouded,

I see myself hearing the scream of unknowns,

By which everyone shares the dichotomy and end up at gravestones.

She walks in silence black and tend to clear up the thrones,

I wait to hear  your voice over a telephone”



शी इस सुनिधी

There was a little glory for every little story which always used to end in a hero so fancy,

Well angels turned sheros where filmy game turned so unreal it crossed the wings so slow, by wind being in low flow.

She got those tricks blow when everything was written by a pen, he needs not to shun those feelings when there is nothing to trigger the fringes.

Done bad with words that where all show, that heart is a rifle with bullet dozed with a life full to win the frow.

My life heads for prelude at no sight for prerogative shot, then now i cant trust nobody all schools end up in dot dot.

Where i say smile and she showers with a laughter, no trift towards the doings but ends me in a lesson,

With treasure meaning of her name she wants no fame, I call your radix push and end up in refrain to ragged pull.

I lay my eyes in respect where smooth caved life is all a pain for which i know where to bisect, I pray for your success with my evildoers running in your veins.

Mental Psych

There are enormous words that profile in our day to day life, where we tend to learn from every other step back. But in all of the midst, the collective response do depend upon the mental psych. Some lines of regression do push the vision in a directory of ultimate energy.

” I live up in the soundness

Where life is a no go

I wander in the hallo

With no idea where to go

You see no shame in let go

I scream to the outmost

I follow you to outpost

Never saw the light that low

I die in my blood shalow

I walk up in the white coat

Running for a black dot

To ink me red in one shot

Where happiness is never brought”

‘Mental isolation is a disease.

As that name’

Ink of blood

Be peaceful, be courteous, obey the law, respect everyone; but if someone puts his hand on you send him to cemetery-Malcolm X

Occupation is not easy to understand, it’s a very complex and multifaceted phenomenon. The decade’s long bloody conflict has turned Kashmir into one of the most politically mature nations of the world.
With time we all have somewhat understood the complex functioning, structure and machinery of occupation.

India as a colonial state is slowly but steadily failing in justifying its colonial rule to the people of Kashmir.
But, occupation is like a cancer thus,

we as a nation and community have to evolve and update ourselves of the new military, mental and diplomatic tactics of India as a colonial state.
You might be wondering why everyone who is choosing gun over pen, decided to write. There are a few things that I believe made it hard for me to be silent;

1: Collaborators nowadays are obfuscating facts to justify occupation and oppression while playing with emotions of gullible masses, human rights defenders are turning into business monsters and are making conflict a business by featuring the pain of oppressed, activism is guided and directed from Delhi studios.

2: From print media to electronic media, everyone from oppressors to oppressed have chosen to castigate us, our ways and methodology, our ideology and thought process by simply demonizing us.
Thirdly, when people who were forced to give up gun to propagate ‘peaceful ways of resistance ‘try to justify our methods of resistance by their own understanding and logic but actually disown us and our ideology and lastly when a former top cop turned human rights defender who worthlessly tried to crush genuine aspirations of people during his tenure tries to preach humanity and moderateism through half-hearted and illogical arguments.
One has but to respond. Thus, it becomes imperative for a person like me (who neither has resources nor the luxuries like the people I tried to relate above) who has already chosen gun over pen, to reply back in the same language and to present our point of view.
And I believe it’s necessary that some insider also puts his point of view to get the facts straight.
Not going into the long history of the occupation which I believe everyone among us is well aware about its roots, causes and ramifications.

The modern era of resistance started after the mass upsurge of 2008. Since then the methods of resistance have drastically and positively changed.
With the change in methods of resistance the tactics of oppression & suppression also evolved. India has realized it very well that they no longer can justify their illegal occupation or keep the Kashmiri nation silent under the jackboots of slavery.
So, they are willfully trying to change the historical and political realities of Kashmir. Day in and day out, new discourses are being circulated in media through various individuals and agencies.
India is very cleverly trying to confuse the people of Kashmir by manufacturing the narratives suiting to justify their military presence and oppressive measures used to contain the populace of J&K.
Certain individuals are assigned powerful and resourceful positions and then made to befool the people by bringing new discourses (irrelevant) and trying to make the old and actual ones seem out-dated and irrelevant.

One day we see some bureaucrat writing ‘India is the only rational choice Kashmiris have’ and the other day a politician will question ‘why militants feel dignity in death’. I will here try to deconstruct some of such vague arguments and expose the hypocrisy behind them.
‘we are soldiers we don’t fight to die but to win, we don’t feel dignity in death but we do feel dignity in fighting (Indian) occupation, its military might, its oppression, its tyranny, its collaborators and most of all its ego and if/when we die while fighting all this, we do feel dignity in that death.’ By ‘we’, I mean every Kashmiri and by ‘Kashmiri’ I mean every citizen of J&K, who is fighting the occupation in one or other way, not just the men with gun.

A teacher (school, college or university) who teaches students honestly or a doctor who works day in and out to treat his patients humanely or a student protesting the atrocities of occupation honorably or a stone palter who throws stones on occupying forces while facing bullets in return, or a columnist who writes fearlessly or a Journalist who risks his life to report the truths from ground zero or a person who just talks about the occupation or a lawyer who fights legally in a court, or a government employee who is sincere in his duties or for that matter a policeman who performs his real duty of maintaining law and order (not terrorizing, killing, maiming, and torturing natives), we are all soldiers of resistance.

New identities and divisions are being created, to bifurcate the society and to create voids in resistance. Before 2016 mass upsurge was deliberately associated with city and towns and militancy was called the activity of some ‘illiterate strayed village boys’.
Now protests are being associated with the ‘south Kashmir villagers’ who have no sense of economy. Although every now and then people have rejected these narratives by showing their mass support to resistance movement but still we need to be vigilant about how they try to disconnect people from each other using senseless discourses, sometimes on sub regional basis (North Vs South) and sometimes on sectarian and ethnic basis.

There is a very strong campaign going on in media (both social media and electronic media) against the resistance of Kashmir.
Those who fight occupation are called fanatics, fundamentalists and their favorite word, terrorists. The people behind these campaigns are well aware of the facts but it’s their job to befool people. The Indian NCERT text book for 12th class political science students defines terrorist as, “one who targets civilians indiscriminately to get their demands fulfilled” .

By this definition one can clearly understand who qualifies to be a terrorist since our course of action is known to one and all. Unlike India we don’t kill civilians (Kashmiris or Indian) and non combatants (not part of occupation).

Those calling us terrorists should either change their textbooks or their rhetoric. The people of India are being taught that Kashmiri militants are brainwashed young boys who join militancy for 72 virgins and they believe dying like this is a short cut for jannah.
There is no denying that Islam is our motivation and way of life and Islam indeed promises Jannah for fighting against every kind of oppression in whatever means one can.
But, as I mentioned above we are soldiers we join the war not to die and live in Jannah nah but to fight the enemy and defeat him.
No militant can ever claim Jannah even if he sacrifices everything, Jannah is the domain of Allah and that will be decided on the Day of Judgment not just on the fact that you died in a war, but entry in Jannah has a million criteria.

Also, we do not claim that Islam exclusively belongs to us only but it is true also those oppressors have a long history of manipulating people in the name of religion. They will always choose a specific part of Islam, misinterpret it and try to legitimize their occupation.

It’s often being argued that we are fighting a lost war. Apologists of occupation flaunt the military might of India, its missile technology, and its huge army; comparisons are being made between 200 young boys with AK47 and the one million army men with latest weaponry. But we act as fire blazes come from the rage, its today we and tomorrow it can be anyone.

Death’s Diary

In the darkness of his dark beating which he had given for his own death,

There are many things to think of, there is much of a story.

He didn’t had any interest for building a mystery

Roll a dice by hiding few this is how you live,

Its getting his eyes while she screams with nothing she could do.

A gentle breeze rode through an open window,

Coupled with rain that came in like saw dust.

She had enough books at her home,

She was rereading her fate by the Bloom.

There is a monstrous doorway ahead of her meeting,

Where i see myself waiting for greetings.

Each night before bed; she would open a fail safe guide to grave digging,

Buried deep inside it, her name was engraved.

She mouthed the words and touched the birds,

She turned noisy pages into small packed death dairy.


As every hardship was reflected with the after ease. But nights have turned so scary with just dusted breeze,

Here am i backed with a sound clicking the mind off. Beats of slow life are so sudden with no answers yet so general,

Once was that symphony loved with life turned lyrics. The grudge stands no chance for my beloved one pained in those flicks,

As she still is there but he has lasted for nothing, As a river so wide to hold secret like something.

Is there anyone in this life with everything, But with everything he had nothing,

With that name everyone had to heal. But with everyone he stands as none to feel,

In the pale moonlight he stands on mountain up top. Stabbed in chest with no reason to stop,

Clouds hail supremacy over the set of thunderstorms. Evil has spoken through eyes with nothing so suffice,

He was a lord for now who has lost battles of life. He is in a dream which make him scream.

The Struggler, Continued

Aerate the chain of happiness with my heart duped in love, Dilate those tears where i falter to speak.

Malicious is the sight of himself, as he has irked himself daily.

That layman is a ghost now, with sense left in malevolency.

Millet has grown all over his drenched soul, with all hope for her return left on omnipotent.

She is a rector of her decisions, he is guilty for simony of his respect.

Fate has tagged him as stark mad, Unlade his soul from the body, It’s Time.

Soul leaves sawdust behind, diacritic was his life over begging her love.

Dialected will he be in safe heavens, As angels will witness the struggler continuing.

Kashmir : A bit from my side.

All my life I’ve been scared of someone standing over me
I suppose my first stand over was by the tyrant, we thought was liberal
as he couldn’t vanish before i could even remember him in good
for some reason when i was a boy i liked to fight, i liked to resist
a lot of time I lost, with sometimes blood falling from my nose, with a bullet chiseling in my body, with tears soaking my happiness out.

Many years later i needed to hide, i tried not to sleep because i was afraid of who might be there when i woke up
will it be the death or the tyrant
but i was always lucky it was always my mother nation
when I was hiding, i dreamed of a certain death; a death as a martyr
the hardest walk was when i tried to find it
out of sheer luck and many footstep i found whats behind the veil of death
I slept with it for a long time, i told it about the dream , sufferings and pain.
but out of this thought, what did i see when i woke up
it wasnt the tyrant but someone else standing over my pain
by time i grew old enough to realise that train your dreams for fists
now i live in curbing, as bad dreams sill live in my sleep
one night after my usual nightmare a shadow stood above me
he said : tell me what do you dream of
i said freedom “AZAADI”

In return he explained what the dreams were made of
its makes me realize that the best stand over I’ve ever known is not a man its the false sympathy that tyrant beholds
the road of red stars followed me to live as deist
a portrait of freedom hangs in answer of never-ending pain
as joy of mourning has made me live in no ease
what was i scared for
the identity of shadow; as it had seen everything.


Poor Little boy.

Which sound lies in those channels of lifeless soul

That picture so opaque standing against the wall,

Talk about that broken switch leading to unsorted energy

Odious was his name for his story was never oyez.

He lies on his pallet with no future pallid,

No precint for his outgrown love is seen

Precocious is his happiness that lead him to all this pain,

Meet a presbyter hear the tales of untold love

Everywhere ruth was found,

Pyre is the end point of all those tears

She was a rector with no mercy for him,

Make me a servitor and i will lavish my life over your feet

Grotesque will be my death for if we coalesce someday

Dilate the word of his death

For now his soul is entailed,

She may enrage her known people

Ensanguine his name under no shrine,

His love was incoercible with no beginning

Inaptitude for her standards; abash him and let him rott in hell

But who knew he was abatering her pain.

Willy are the people last words what he said

Odious are their desires

Patter my no name in your lullaby as i will then fight the fire.