Gaash

Hear me: hear through the crevices of sleep—tonight? Whatever remains of that memory—let's keep tonight. Pray: the soldiers return galled to their cramped barns, listen: back home the snow is knee-deep tonight; Into bristle icicles,…

The rivulets meandering down the slopes Twisting and turning, gleaming and glowing Sometimes caressing, restlessly eloping Rushing down with a frenzy and not slowing Is this crystal clear water from afar, unknown highlands That has…

From the Book "KASHMIR' By Sir Francis Younghusband 1st Published in September 1909 What will be one day know as the playground of India, and what is known as the Kashmiris as the ‘Meadow of Flowers,’ is situated twenty-six miles from…

A short story by Faruq Masudi Times Square Manhattan, NY It is one of the most hospitable places of the world. It welcomes every body with a warm hug and a sumptuous cuisine. Times Square is the ultimate destination for the glamour struck…

A master broadcaster of our generation, whose vote bank at one point of time could be gauged by the number of letters from listeners of Radio Kashmir Srinagar and letters with dried flowers from listeners from across the border.…

Born in a family of artists, where his grandfather played Saran and his cousin was a professional singer, Suhail’s entry into art was, but, obvious. The only twist in the tale was that he did not try to play the ‘Saran’ or take to singing.…

Roads don't wind rivers don't hum, Homes so stark, with no hearth The sun sets straight into the earth, Like a funeral, without a shroud, And not behind a mountain Nude and bloody, Obscene Skyline is buildings, trees, or fields, Not the…

Damp curtains are undone Fatigued hours curtailed Those failed To quench the flames Veering to devour one, exonerate anotherPearly moonbeams caress fellow white palms Enmeshed in embossing a crimson fate Monstrous bait ! It is the pyretic…

On 31 July 1986, in the Towheed Gunj Mohalla of Baramulla was born a child who studied engineering only to end up becoming a poet. Elder amongst two brothers, the journey of Ashfaq Saraf as a poet starts when he was in school. But with…

I planted a cherry tree Four seasons back In a morose rain Pelting sharp upon nimble naked boughs And rows, of wild berries Running amuck in an unruly strain. The tree is a full bloom now Of white satin flowers Swirling against a beaming…