I am in Kashmir, Lenore.
Leaving behind my two room squalor
Back in Kidderpore,
I sold off everything I owned
But the box of your yellowed letters.

I know it’s a big gamble
That I have played here,
But ever since I got your letter saying,

“Shahid, we can barely meet now,
Except in some yellow dreams…”

Aparna,
Didn’t you always want to be
A troubadour?
Even during our University days,
You swooned over poets in exile.

Well?
All these years I tried in vain
To cage you in our home
Back in the old neighbourhood.
Even the day you left,
I staunchly waited for you
To come back
And serve my dinner.

Doesn’t it please you now
That we have no home?
Some Kashmiri said long ago,
“Home is a place always missed”
The only home now to me is
The J&K RADIO station

Where I have contracted
To conduct a show called
‘The Night – Listener’
Where I am supposed to carress
The wound-tattered Kashmiris
With ghazals,
And my stories.

You can call in during the show
And share stories about
A million Shahids you know
In this valley of paranoia.

Just call me, Aparna,
I am close now,
Real close.

Author : Rajarshi Roy

Indian Review | Authors | Rajarshi Roy writes for Indian Review | Indian Literature & Poetry from Indian and across the world