“I cannot drink water
It is mingled with the blood of young men who have died up in the mountains.
I cannot look at the sky; It is no longer blue; but painted red.
I cannot listen to the roar of the gushing stream
It reminds me of a wailing mother next to the bullet-ridden body of her only son.
I cannot listen to the thunder of the clouds It reminds me of a bomb blast.
I feel the green of my garden has faded Perhaps it too mourns.
I feel the sparrow and cuckoo are silent Perhaps they too are sad.”
–anonymous Kashmiri poet