This poet
sleeps
On the
lips of your dreams
Words
have gone again on strike
I am
curfewed in your eyes
I see you
From the
window of the moon
I hear
you
Like an
old song of longing
Of Habba Khatoon
I hold
you
Like a
dry leaf of Chinar
I keep
you safe
In the
secret pocket
Of my
grandmother’s phirin
With all
my shy marbles
Of
childish desires
I wait
for you
To play
with me
I wait
for you
To sing
with me
I wait
for you
To shout
with me
On the
unknown mountains
Of
beloved Kashmir
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