I liked the gleam in your eyes—of truth, of fight.
When you asked me: How does a free Kashmir look to you?
I was only looking at your sculptured hands
I wanted to hold your hand and tell you
about all my dreams--wordless, clockless.
When I saw your worn out chapals and your carefree feet,
as if still dangling in the ancient waters reflecting a promise
I wanted to ask, what do they mean to you—earth and freedom.
Your eyes when filled...
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