inner voice

A Cry for Help
A Kashmiri’s insight on the ongoing violence

Let me recite to you, a tale
Of a land-my home.
My memories are still fragrant
with the lingering scent of Saffron
Which reminds me of the good times before.
I still cherish the days,
When I used to sit under the
comforting shade of the Chinar tree
Around my neighbourhood,
All alone while watching the
leaves dance to
The sweet Rubaab melody.
I still remember how my mother
Gave the kangris to me and my brother,
filled with hot embers
Felicitating us with the
long awaited solace
From the chilling snow outside.
But now,
My land stands in a dilapidated condition,
Crying for help,
The aroma in the air has now been
replaced by the acrid smell of gunpowder,
All the joyous ballads have turned
themselves to helpless screams;
The sparkling lakes that were
once clear are now smeared with gore
Of the brave;
The people of my land are being tortured
by the sadist hands of war..
They say that “A good neighbour is
a priceless treasure.’
Which often leaves me perplexed and full of doubt
Wondering about the foul fate of ours,
That the one closest to us,
did not fail to betray us.
The people of my land are left fatigued,
In the bickering between the two nations;
The woodsy smell of the Deodar
Has been ousted by the melancholic tears
Of the people,
My home lies on its death bed,
Lamenting for peace…
I feel extremely afraid
For I don’t want my land to turn
To the land of the deceased.
Saeesha Pandita


It’s the darkest of the hour
I feel my peace lost
My heart aching
N my mind getting numb
Something inside me cries out so loud
Even this deadly silence seems noisy
I surrender to the darkness
Dreams inside me die of suffocation
Want you to speak up
Whisper few words in my ears
Feeling scared of this numbness
I’m dying at this moment
Eyes are burning of pain
Inhaling this polluted air
Loops of smoke are
quite truthful
Everything else seem fraud
I feel less of blood
More of wounds
Dressings too are decayed
Symbolise my fate
Spirit has left me
N I’m dead once again
Parul Anand


Why should we suffer?
Why should we pay?
Why should we do this everyday?
We are tired of doing this everyday,
Stop child labour
Our cuts and bruises are not healing,
As we do this day by day,
It’s like they feel, but have no felling
And are not bothered of we have to say
We are tried of doing
this everyday
Stop child labour
Sania Heer
Class 7th
Stephens International
Public School