Qasida of Half-Widows
Qasida of the Teahouse by the Lake
Zephyr’s saffron-sigh hanging in window
closed to news of Kashmir, window unlock-
ing almond- and begonia birds that fly
together to Dal— lake of the beautiful
possible you drew every time they asked
about a map or a mass grave. Stubborn
dreamer, your porcelain waters resist
a bloodied game. Climb the steps that lead
to the teahouse burnished with the glow of
half-widows, teahouse of long-awaited men
Qasida of the Bridesmaid’s Candle
Before the disappearance of the man
who strikes a match with one hand, shields with care
the candle with the other, while she lifts
the copper stand— wax melting, a jewel
traversing her forehead, closely missing
the flame she carries— before this bridesmaid
sees his hand guarding her light, it seems they
will remain haloed by wedding shimmer
He will pour her daily tea, cinnamon-pink
satin drink, steam rising to balconies
Qasida of the Mynah and the Blind Musician
The hills return the songs of the mynah
and the blind musician with his brass tongs
which he plays to the drum hanging across
his shoulder by a rope. He knows the stone
fruits by size and shape (cherry, plum, apricot),
seasons by songbirds, time of the day by
the type of tea: kehwa in the morning,
salt tea in the afternoon with sheer maal.
He does not know its green-gold or cedar,
nods to the gurgle of the samovar
Qasida of the Anatomy of a Letter
The minaret in your ribcage is banned
as is the muezzinin your breath, the scent
of Eid feast. The mountain is your mother
Her shoulders are calm, her heart is ample
Bring to her your art of braiding absence
with the rose-gold filaments of her
forbearance, bring all seven orchards of
the Sufis in a bottle of ink and
a sheaf of paper, scatter your hopes among
the wisteria, dry tear-sodden letters
Qasida of the Charcoal Burner
Bitter cold, you stay within whispering
distance of the charcoal burner, imagine
your old swing on the chinar, reddening sky,
leaping panther, pomegranate grove, abode
of fairies, a boot kicking an oil lamp
on a straw-laden boat. Someone has woven
for this moment a shawl of mercy with a field
of corn silk, a medallion of pearl buds,
someone has brewed gulabi chai with cardamom,
adds cream, someone watches over your wound.
Half-widows: Thousands of Kashmiri men have been unaccounted for during the decades-long military occupation of Kashmir. Their wives are called “half-widows.” A half-widow may remarry after four years if her husband doesn’t return.
Gulabi Chai: Kashmiri “pink tea”
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