Poems by Qaisar Bashir

Qaisar Bashir
Qaisar Bashir, who hails from Bandipora, Kashmir, was born in 1988. He had a Master’s Degree in English Literature from Kashmir University. Once Upon A Time, a translation of a Kashmiri Novel, Akh Dour, by Bansi Lal Nirdous, published by Authorspress on January 01,2017, is his debut achievement. Besides this, he was awarded a certificate of appreciation by Criterion: An International Journal, for his poem, How I Shall Forget, Come Up and Since Decades.
In Memory of Aasifa
With a horse and her innocent courage,
She plodded unto meadows
To guide the horse to graze
Under the sky clear and the sun ablaze;
A little fairy of years eight
Roved here and there like a hart,
Loved the fragrance that morning breeze brought;
And she danced with butterflies white
And hummed tunes that lit her face bright.
Amidst the beauty of lush meadows,
A storm– that murdered her joys– rose:
When a host of human hounds trapped
Her bubble weak body;
And then by them, she was multiple times raped
In front of a blind and deaf god, in a temple.
‘Baba, Baba,’ she continually cried
Till they hit her head with a stone and she died.
Ah, what heinous crime was being done!
Yet the criminals are out as if it was all a fun.
Come, O humanity, come!
For the sake of Aasifa, let’s be one,
Let’s promise that we will sleep not
Until JUSTICE will be done,
Until the rapists will be taught a lesson:
That will send shivers down their spine
Who, on and off, do such disgraceful crime.
Angry Throng
On the sprig
Of a pomegranate tree
Flayed I over the hills and plains
Of a bride like beautiful country;
And a horde of souls I espied
With banners and posters wide,
Fuming fire and banging
At the gate of queen’s glass palace.
After an hour’s wait
The queen emerged at the palace gate;
A garland of blood dyed lilies
And a dress, woven of lies, she had worn
To cast a spell to turn
The fire of the angry throng;
But the throng broke rules all,
Pounced on her like tigers hungry
For shooting down their sons was her folly.
Modern nights
Though starry and full moon still
Are not so balmy and soothing
As you, o childhood nights, used to be:
Women would rush out of their homes
Smilingly gathered in moonlit lawns
To perform Rouf dance and sing Nosheeds;
Like moths, we would them circle
To find solace and peace!
O sweet childhood night!
Where have thou gone?
Have They kidnapped you too?
Caged you in Papa 2 ?
Why are you mum?
Do you hear me?
Aye, I know, why you don’t hear
Or speak;
I know your tongue is cut
And your ears are rendered dysfunctional!
… Ah, I wish you were with us again
With that bliss
With that love and peace.

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