A folk song in Kashmir (SIX)

Here in Kashmir the rain is blue, with

the clouds that rove in autumnal hue.

But if I speak of the hills around

they kick my bottom with a

frosty mound.

Here in Kashmir the sky is quiet

the land is strewn with mines that bite.

The dreams of death sings not afar;

The winter wind frills my

door ajar.

Here in Kashmir the tourists come and go

as the snow make them sing Jai ho!

And when I see them come this way

I throw them all my love and

pray.

Here in Kashmir they name her bomb-

She grows like a puss in her mother’s

womb.