The Pink Bucket

The Pink Bucket:

Way beyond the pink bucket,I see a dark hill..

I recall seeing this hill before, a few years back,

maybe;

it was green, glittered when the rays fell over its scape.....

Now, today, this moment when I see it, 

it reminds me death- its dark,

has witnessed a lot of turmoil in the Valley,

the hill is the heart of the city, the Srinagar City,

its silent,stands to testify pain, bloodshed and sacrifice,

of hundreds of Kashmiris.

I thought to go closer to this hill,

surrounded by vast graveyards,

which contrast the normal silence of the graves.

Did these dead been buried here die naturally, 

maybe no, 

they lay there as a strong witness to their struggle,

it led them to a life of misery, a death-unknown and a grave- constricted by darkness and confusion.

I wonder how people react to this,

they sell colourful pink buckets,to colour their lives,

they act naive to every other death this hill sees,

they live a life of stillness, fallen prey to their monotony,

they have ceased to think, act or react,

they are the perfect examples to study the Reverse Darwinian Natural selection,

here, ones who want a change, perish, the others adapt, flow with the dark river

,lost and deprived of any direction and a true identity.

I aint against the pink buckets,

I just feel for the ones who shed their blood......for this land........