Ubaid Bukhari

I
O Ithaca, O Kashmir

“In Shalimar I sit and fill goblets of wine
And scan the Earth, waiting for him” –
Habba Khatoon

From the shores of the Delhi Sultanate
Come sailing against Poseidon’s curse,
For the Himalaya – a basalt sea in stasis
rolls wave after wave towards me.

At the promised Gates of Harmukh,
Amid lilac bloom, I weep in falling snow.
Penelope tells me her Odysseus has returned,
And my Yousuf exiled to Hades’ halls.

Did Akbar break Zeus’s law?
Did the messenger censor my Siren song?

Embark from the Lotus-eaters, Yousuf,
Or send a handful of petals to Pampore,
Where I dilute the memory of the saffron harvest.
I waited twenty years like Penelope;
Give me a few eternities to forget.
For Odysseus has returned, and my Yousuf is dead.

II

WRITING BACK

I am not a stone; you are not a geologist
I am not a hand, you are not a palmist
I am not a Piano; you are not a pianist
I am not a painting, you are not an art-critic,
I reject being interpreted
I reject being represented
I have a language,
I can speak.

You can, with the bourgeoisie money
write resistance as savagery
justify a massacre as cleansing
of a savage race reluctant to pacifism
claim occupation as necessary,
create brute-savage dichotomy,

If you censor our thoughts
of thinking blood at seeing Blood
or censor our writing REVOLUTION
as NOIT-UL-OVER

The memory will become our library,
The memory will become our museum,
We will sing massacres in our lullabies
And pass down burning shrines
as bed time stories
Like old heirlooms to our children,
Till REVOLUTION is written as REVOLUTION.

Ubaid Bukhari is a poet and literature teacher based in Srinagar, Kashmir. His work blends a psychological landscape with regional memory and classical mythology. His poetry has appeared in publications including Gulmohur Quarterly and PoemsIndia.