“They are those who celebrate our death, They are those who celebrate our death,
I don’t know how hard a heart has to be to Celebrate the Death of Innocent Civilians,
I don’t know how hard a heart has to be to Celebrate the Death of Children,
I don’t know how hard a heart has to be to Celebrate the Blindness of a Kid,
I don’t know how hard a heart has to be to Celebrate the Rape of a Child,
Their hearts are Dead, Their hearts are Dead, but ours are alive,
They are Alive in the Songs we sing for our martyers,
They are Alive in the Tears we shed for our Children,
They are Alive in the Stones we throw at our Oppressors,
They are Alive in the Stories we tell our History,
They are Alive in the Flowers our Mothers Rained on the Coffins of Rebels,
They are Alive in the way we Laugh when there are no Tears left,
They are Alive in the Books we tell our Stories,
They are Alive in the lines we Bear Witness,
They are Alive in the way we fight our Oppressor,
They are Alive in the way we fight our Oppressor,
They are Alive in the way we fight our Oppressor.”
–Ameen Rather, Kashmir