At My Mother’s Grave in the Putnam Valley — 7000 Miles from Where She Was Born by Rafiq Kathwari Mother, I thought I heard an echo of your rousing words — “My Life Is Ahead of Me”— Wrinkles mapped your face after you flew from the Kashmir Valley where— long as I remember— you raged…

Lenin in the Presence of God A trans creation after Iqbal, by Rafiq Kathwari God Aha! Comrade Ulyanov— Welcome! Or I should say, Dobro Pozhalovat! Lenin You’re alive? But “God is dead,” they said. God I inhabit men’s heart: passion’s home, and for a moment my angels swayed to your tune. Lenin So, this is…

Karachi by Rafiq Kathwari   A stray dog pulls apart a donkey’s corpse. A camel pacing into the rushlight stomps on   mini sand-ruins of treads and tracks: What did this: a quad bike, a Humvee?   A shadow lengthens on the beach. Stars glow in Hi Rises inland from the sea’s edge.   People…

I Remember My First Great American Love I remember the first time I met Sophia at O’Hara’s the quintessential American café on Restaurant Row in Manhattan’s Theatre District, 35-years ago on the Tuesday before Good Friday. I remember leaves sprouting after the long winter nakedness. I remember she paused at the coat check. I remember…

by Rafiq Kathwari Owowwowwow! What timing, Joy said, kissing my forehead. I was leaning against the island in her kitchen, my arms cradled, eyes lowered to my worn-out sneakers as she sautéed fillet of sole in the juice of tangerines. Later, my sneakers squeaked when I dragged my feet home in an October drizzle, my…

by Rafiq Kathwari After the Twin Towers fell, the media flagged the attack, 9/11, a forever label that is historically significant for yet another attack, an inside job premeditated by Dr Kissangel and his oxymorons to depose Senor Yen Day, a dreamer, who wished for his people, at the very least, a ruka to sleep…

by Rafiq Kathwari You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait, be quiet, still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet. ―Franz Kafka East…

you whos teh aiye ait nus korook wahv rai ais see chzut na sue kul ais ma che sanaan uth bilqul —Rehman Rahi this year again they came wavered warbled where we thoughtlessly felled that tree —Translated from the original Kashmiri by Rafiq Kathwari

My Name Is Hiba Nasir I wasn’t pelting stones Ten years ago I didn’t even know what protesting meant I was Kashmir’s youngest pellet gun victim Only 20 months old then I lived with my family In Shopian I was playing inside my house when the army sprayed teargas All around Grey smoke entered our…

Kasheer Saleem morukh Salaam morukh Habeeb morukh Heshaam morukh Ye shahar morukh Ye ghaam morukh Kasheer hund Subh o shaam morukh Kashmir They killed Saleem They killed Salaam They killed Habeeb They killed Heshaam They killed this city That town they killed — All of Kashmir’s blood They spilled *** By Abdur Rehman Rahi (b.…

Son, I Again Dreamt About You Last Night A version after Iqbal I couldn’t find the road in the dark, my every hair bristled but I dared myself and walked on, saw boys swaying in single file, each holding a Diya lamp in his hand, their clothes glowed like emeralds— God only knew where they…

Phoenix after Iqbal Unveil your face A star is witness Stop flickering Blaze How long will you beg like Moses on the mountain? Fan the flame within you Create a new Mecca with every speck of your embers Rid yourself of idolatry Observe the limits in this temple Even if you want to boast First…

Dear Rafiq, I just received your new book of poems, “My Mother’s Scribe,” and was delighted to learn your mother’s name is Maryam. My maternal grandmother was named Maryam. My mother (Araxie, ten-years old) last saw her and her 3 younger brothers in Urfa on the Death March in 1915. They were in bad shape.…

The Brothers Kathwari after Iqbal You know the secret I lack depth You have a home I’m a wanderer You control the sky I’m prisoner of desire You profit by interest earned I’m losing the race Your ships float in the air My boat is without a sail Restless, you’re spring I’m fall You’re weak.…

Ardor after Iqbal Her seduction keeps him fluid as mercury Has she taught him the rules of passion? Restless, he finds comfort yearning Is she his eternal flame? Is he a lover of ancient beauty? She, small Sinai; he, small Moses His search for illumination — An insect longing for light   By Rafiq Kathwari. His…

She Drives as I Scribble on London I wear my French bodice and you don’t even notice I dread turning into a submissive housewife Will you still hug me after we are married? I understand the off-side rule in football better than many men I know When I’m premenstrual, I want to smash glass I…

by Rafiq Kathwari If you go to Kashmir today this is what you will see. As you drive away from Srinagar’s Hum Hama airport, a large green billboard with white lettering proclaims, Welcome to Paradise. You will whip your head from side to side absorbing the sights and sounds of heaven: men in khaki in…

  Buddha died and left behind a big emptiness — Allen Ginsberg   Vale of Kashmir 700,000 jackboots fill the emptiness — Rafiq Kathwari  

by Rafiq Kathwari “Battle of Algiers”, a classic 1966 film directed by Gillo Pontecorvo, seized my imagination and of my classmates as well when it was shown three years later at the Palladium in Srinagar. A teenager wearing bell-bottoms, dancing the twist, I was a Senior at Sri Pratap College, named after Maharajah Pratap Singh, a…

by Rafiq Kathwari Dapaan, Rama saw Sita bathing nude in Sitaharan, a spring near the Line of Control in Kashmir. It was lust at first sight. Dapaan, the demon king Ravana abducted Sita to Sri Lanka to avenge a previous wrong. Rama flew in anger south to Sri Lanka in his glitzy winged chariot. Dapaan,…