In an hour, I have lived three decades.
On a great white morning,
I dreamt of Kashmir.
On the banks of the Jhelum
Death lay resplendent, like the sinless virgin.
Beside it, stood two hounds
With eyes that stole from me
Something I never Loved.
The waters of the Vitastā,
Of Vyēth, Of Jhelum languished in perfect memory.
Under its depths,
Eternity billowed up columns of deathless air.
Vitastā sacrificed its blood.
Jhelum stole it.
And I dreamt of Kashmir.
I believe if I speak of Kashmir,
The Earth would bleed tears.
So I love it from far away
Like all great tragedies must be loved.
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