My torso is witness to your vengeance
like I was never a human who feels pain,
Showers of your pellets, the tiny bullets
piercing my skin burning it alive on the way.

My mother, in anguish, seeing the imprints
on her son’s body in wordless sufferance,
My friends trying to pick each shell out
attempting not to tremble in your disdain.

My eyes went from colorful to dark
never to see my beloved again,
You want my spirit to break forever,
not knowing it’s free from all chains.

My body like the map of a country
occupied, tortured, and trampled,
My soul enduring in resilience
that one day the corpse will be mine.

©Mudasir Firdosi, Kashmiri psychiatrist & poet