CURSE

I enter Nizamuddin
and exit through Select City Walk
Somewhere between Old and New Delhi
I wish for Kashmir.
The overburdened soul of this city
Where motors creep endlessly
Through its veins
I am an itch
That crawls through the skin of this city.
I imagine every chai a kehwa
A Nun Chai
But the thirst for Kashmir never ends.
I meet people
Discuss Politics
Culture, whatever is left of it
But Kashmir hangs perpetually -
An icicle in my frozen memory,
Like a curse.
Finally, I fly over Himalayas back to
Kashmir
I scratch the barbed skin of my country
To find its wounded soul
The curse is not lifted

I am perpetually cursed
To find Kashmir in Kashmir.