Colonialism smells!
like the scent of dead bodies,
Flies dancing on the blood clots
Blood soaked clothes drenched in sweat and vultures eating the skull of body horrendously ,
Turns a town empty into ghost garrison
Covered by long Jack boots,
Occupies spaces with loud howl of rifle
Shrinking the balloons of lungs
With Pepar gas, tear gas shells and electric shocks .
people with blue dots, skulls dangling on orchards,
Some living within the graveyards , some pasted on the walls ,
the lanes are, but river of memories
That carry blood, bones, flesh and departure of country.
The lanes carry scent of camphor
a farewell to a coffin and
Trousers filled with stains of gun powder, The floaters of stone pelters
Scattered on roads
Mothers wailing ,
Caterwauling barefooted
within dark nights
a house Looks scary it has
Burnt wooden panes,
Smelling like burnt rubber ,
Slowly turning into ashes
Spices, utensils, burned carpets,
Heap of blankets! All in one row.

–by Kashmiri┬áRuhail Andrabi