Oh Kashmir, where is your Jannat?
I am freedom, look at me, they say I taste of heaven,
I am freedom, look at me, they say I taste of heaven,
I am the dance of Kashmir, at the
lone death of eleven.
I am the songs of her silence, the
whisper of all that remains,
When the last bullet shreds his
little heart, and it is his mother's that pains.
I am his last shred of sanity, before
he picks up that silver knife,
I am freedom, look at me, I am
everything his father gambled in life.
I am the dead knock on the door of
the little orphan girl,
I am the shout of the brave soldier,
before his final curl.
I am the sorry sigh of the last inch
of that woman's grace,
When she's burning on her death pyre,
and her mother's getting raped.
I am the voice of reason, that he
kills before thinking twice,
I am the noise of the cannon, I am what
feeds his lonely pride.
I am the one lying on the road, when
you shut off your eyes,
I am freedom, look at me, I am
the truth of all your lies.
I am the scars of your memories,
which have promised never to fade,
I am your wife's final cry, when
she's up on the pedestal of trade.
I am the living body, dead in the
gutter outside your lane,
I am what you choose to ignore, I am
the death at your grave.
I am the old man's call for his
mother, when he's being burnt alive,
I am the price tag on that woman's
beauty when she's selling herself at night.
I am the voice of that stranger that
dies before it could ever rise,
I am freedom, look at me, I am
your beautiful Kashmir in disguise.
I am the last scream of the lover who
still thinks that he is free,
I am the torn clothes of his
mistress, I am the dead sister of three.
I am freedom, look at me, they say I
taste of heaven,
My free wings spread in their
entirety, and a curfew after seven.
