In the evening fog, like ashen smoke over the foothills;
blurred vision when the sisters drowned in ankle deep water.

The stream’s crime, it became a silent witness, labeled an accused;
to a gruesome murder, to adults drowning in its shallow depths.

As they sleep to eternity, a strange bewailing echoes in the orchard

Of screams left behind, of clamorous whimpering sobs

It was me you dragged in the night, it was me dead by the stream ;
It was me you inflicted, it was me you trampled under jackboots.

Yet I am ALIVE

Shopian !

Every spring new buds sprout on these graves,
every summer daffodils shall bloom there.

~S~

29th May, 2012

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