Muhammad Nadeem


it’s apple season
Doves are under curfew, again
a filthy scenario all around
from all quarters—(leftists, rightists,
secularists, nationalists, cynics, critics and
crazed, nihilistic zealots)
catch and kill
in the most highly militarized zone in the world
Vultures and Doves all over again
bullets, bombs, and bands of cowards hunt in packs
along the highways
in the orchards
in the fields
on the rooftops
outside shops in the little market squares
a massive loss of life
Vultures and Doves all over again
what would they bomb this time?
unforgiving, cold corrosive anger?
wild, irreparable grief?
the ideology of freedom?
the idea of resurgence?
but see, a million Vultures
not able to subdue
unarmed Doves, again
Vultures and Doves all over again


in the Paradise
Vultures of Hell ate her eyes
she isn’t dead
she’s breathing
she’s still alive
yet, her mother cries:
‘she won’t see what she longed for
she won’t see what she fought for’
her father, a grave digger
a travel agent of corpses
may now start
growing flowers
‘my little angel
she’s blind, but still alive
may she smell the fragrance
if can’t see the roses bloom!’
Pharaoh saw the nightmare
last night.
who is responsible
for the killings
of these babies, o Moses?
alas, I see no Nile here!
Jehlum is crying
under the feet of orphan chinars
Eyes! Eyes! Eyes!
Blinds! Blinds! Blinds!
Where are Esa’s healing powers?
We need all Prophets!
Heaven’s under attack!
Vultures of Hell are here!
our eyes!
our eyes!


in the silence of dark thoughts
as dark and ancient as dreams and as deep as sleep
a tightness in chest like the old urge to feel light on the skin
on a snowy, moonlit night that shines pure and white
thousands of memories, all smashed into pieces, in a single swipe
like a major part of life and memories wiped out
these coal black eyes that were like suns,
with rays of happy dreams that leaped from each lash
are now bottomless black wells
pitch-black windows in the dark drenched dead of night
with each tear that vanishes from them, is another memory gone
another dream lost,
a pleasant trick that the mind plays with the chaos in the soul
bruised eyes with silence is the palimpsest of horror
an indecipherable premonition of life
in this vivid, strange, horribly uncanny darkness is the fate
in this uncomfortable inscrutable loneliness
two empty eyes want to make love to the sunlight, to the wind
through the thoughts unspoken,
when did all of this began?
no! no, when did it all begin to fall apart?
these eyes show no hope!
if eyes weren’t visible to others, I wish!
how could one hide eyes from the world?
yes, they shall absorb all suffering inside, deep into the marrow of bones
yes, there is an open wound in the soul
and in these eyes is dreamless sleep, sleep that gives back nothing
in the long dark and insistent black nights of the mind
big wounded eyes
with Tears not transparent but invisible, even to them!
are these expressions so difficult to decipher?

Muhammad Nadeem is a poet and artist from Kashmir. Currently a student of Journalism at University of Kashmir. His works have been previously published in Kashmir Life, Precya Review, Author is also the owner of Kashmir Book Club (

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